Ain't No Mountain High Enough
by Nutsaboutremus
Summary: COMPLETED! On a break from his successful but tolling international Quidditch career, Harry Potter returns to England where he encounters the recently widowed Ginny Weasley and her four fatherless sons. What events will transpire from it? R N R!
1. Ain't No Mountain High Enough

**Ain't No Mountain High Enough**

**Summary:** (Post Hogwarts, HG) On a break from his successful but tolling international Quidditch career, Harry Potter returns to England where he encounters the recently widowed Ginny Weasley and her four fatherless sons. What events will transpire from it? Read and find out!

_**Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is NOT MINE…**_

* * *

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

_Listen, baby  
Ain't no mountain high  
Ain't no valley low  
Ain't no river wide enough, baby_

If you need me, call me  
No matter where you are  
No matter how far  
Just call my name  
I'll be there in a hurry  
You don't have to worry

'Cause baby,  
There ain't no mountain high enough  
Ain't no valley low enough  
Ain't no river wide enough  
To keep me from getting to you

Remember the day  
I set you free  
I told you  
You could always count on me  
From that day on I made a vow  
I'll be there when you want me  
Some way,some how

'Cause baby,  
There ain't no mountain high enough  
Ain't no valley low enough  
Ain't no river wide enough  
To keep me from getting to you

No wind, no rain

My love is alive  
Way down in my heart  
Although we are miles apart  
If you ever need a helping hand  
I'll be there on the double  
As fast as I can

Don't you know that  
There ain't no mountain high enough  
Ain't no valley low enough  
Ain't no river wide enough  
To keep me from getting to you

Don't you know that  
There ain't no mountain high enough  
Ain't no valley low enough  
Ain't no river wide enough

Michael Mcdonald

_

* * *

_

August was Ginny Weasley's favorite time of the year. There were no two ways about it. When she was younger, and very much the aspiring poet, she always pictured August as a reckless, wanton, sultry woman. When it was hundred degrees in the shade and heat shimmered off the blacktop, when the only image you could muster was one of iced pumpkin juice, and then you know, August has arrived.

Suddenly there seemed to be plenty of time to do everything you could ever think of. That was exactly how Ginny felt as she walked down High Street in Hogsmeade Village, on the first Sunday of August, her eldest child, ten year old Raphael walking sedately by her right side, her youngest son, Leonardo at four years, laughing and running after his elder brother, seven year old Warren, slightly in front of her, and last but not least, eight year old Gregory trudging alone on her other side, face averted to the sky, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

It had not always been this upbeat since Terry passed away, around a year ago. There were good days, there were bad days, and there were days when she wished she were the one who was six feet under. Today was a good day – it was a Sunday so she had no work and thus, had the luxury of the entire day to spend with her sons whom she barely saw during the rest of the week. With Greg, Warren and Raphael attending Magical Grade School, Leo spending most of his day at The Burrow under her parents' care and she working the entire day at St. Mungo's, the only time she ever saw them was at dinner and bedtime, when they were all too exhausted for quality time together.

"Mum! Mum!" Warren cried out, running back towards his mother, his face glowing with excitement. He was lanky, like his eldest brother, with black hair and hazel eyes but it was the way his eyes sparkled with constant mirth and mischief that reminded Ginny of her twin brothers.

"Some Famous Serie A Quidditch player is having an autograph session at the Quidditch Supplies' shop," he told her, animatedly gesturing towards the recently opened Quidditch store up beside Zonko's.

"Serie A?" Raphael asked, perking up instantly at the mention of the Italian version of the Quidditch Premier League. If there was one thing Terry made sure he passed down to all of his sons, it was his passion for Quidditch. Only Greg seemed rather nonplussed by all of this.

"Which player?" Ginny asked, rather curious herself.

Warren shrugged. "I don't know-"

"Mum, can we go and see, please, _please_?" Raphael pleaded, all dignity of being the eldest son and 'man of the house' completely forgotten.

"Please, _mummy_," Leo echoed his eldest brother, slightly unclear as to what they were pleading for but joining in the Greek chorus anyway.

"Well, I don't see why not," Ginny told them.

She knew perfectly well that letting loose her four sons in a Quidditch store was a direct invitation for mayhem and chaos but Ginny had never been a strict parent, especially since Terry's demise. She had started to believe that life was really too short to control anyone, least of all her precious sons. She was pretty lenient with them, never finding it in her heart to be able to punish them severely. A lecture was the most disciplining she could ever manage nowadays.

As they approached the shop, Ginny realized that her sons were not the only enthusiastic ones. A large crowd was jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. There was a large banner stretched across the upper windows which proclaimed:

**HARRY POTTER**

**Italian Serie A, Medici Messers Seeker**

**Will be signing any purchases made**

**Today 9.30 – 11.30 am**

"We can actually meet him!" Warren crowed. "I mean, he's won every match of the season for the Messers."

Ginny was barely listening to her son, staring at the poster, blinking in shock, a slight smile playing on her lips as she the words on the poster slowly registered in her mind. It was Greg who noticed the expression on his face. "What's wrong, Mum?"

The rest of the boys seemed to momentarily still, their excitement dissipating – whether it was because Greg had spoken or because of the solemn tones of his voice, Ginny did not know, but they were all staring at her expectantly, anxiously. She felt a brief flash of sadness for her boys, already so used to bad news and tragic events at this young age.

She shook her head at them, smiling reassuringly, "Nothing's wrong. It's just that Harry Potter's actually a rather good friend of Uncle Ron's. We were all at Hogwarts together."

"That's what Uncle Ron always says-" Raphael quipped.

"But we never believed him. He's full of bullcrap," Warren stated, taking great pride in using a swear word that he had learned from his uncles.

"Warren!" Ginny cried out admonishingly, reminding herself to have a word with Ron about his use of language in front of her impressionable sons.

"Is it true, then, Mum? That you know Harry Potter?" It was Greg who had spoken up once again, looking mildly curious. Ginny supposed the enthusiasm of the crowd made up mostly of young wizards was quite contagious.

"Yes, I do," She said.

"That's great then. We can go and talk to him," Raphael decided, his younger brothers' nodding in agreement.

"I haven't seen him in years really, ever since you were born, when he left to play Quidditch in Italy..." She trailed off, realizing that none of the boys were listening.

They were busy trying to squeeze their way through the crowd. Raphael was holding onto Leo's hand so that he would not get lost- or worse, stepped on- and he kept looking behind him to make sure that Warren and Greg were not out of his sight.

Ginny could not help the flood of pride at her eldest son's remarkable sense of responsibility. But the memory of how he had stopped being a boy and started being a grown up was a painful one – it was the day Terry decided to let the children know that he was ill and dying. He had told Raphael that when he was gone, he was to look after his mother and his brothers. Ginny had been shaking her head, crying, but she did not fail to notice the mature glint of determination in her Raphael's eyes as he nodded his head in agreement.

Brushing aside the melancholy inducing thoughts, Ginny followed her sons, squeezing inside the shop. A long queue wound right to the back of the shop, where Harry Potter was signing any purchases made. Ginny could not believe that Harry was finally back. She wondered if Ron and Hermione knew about it and felt a customary flash of irritation at not being kept informed.

Raphael was approaching her. "Mum, we need to buy something-"

"Get whatever you want," she told him, nodding to one of the packaged snitches nearby.

Thankfully finance was not a problem for them. Terry had left them more than enough money to carry on their comfortable living. Also, Ginny's healer job was not just fulfilling but paid pretty well too.

He nodded, grabbing a package and sneaking up the line to where the rest of his brothers were standing.

Ginny joined them, craning over the necks in front of her to catch a glimpse of Harry.

"We'll be able to see him in a minute…" she murmured.

Harry came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large posters of himself on his Firebolt 3.0, zooming all over the place. The real Harry looked mildly uncomfortable with all the overwhelming attention. Ginny fought back a smile; Harry had never really gotten used to all the media frenzy and attention, even after all this time.

He looked the same; his hair was as messy as ever; his green eyes shining behind his black-rimmed spectacles, which were knocked askew by an enthralled, giggly, young witch who wanted his autograph.

A short irritable looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with ever blinding flash,

"Out of the way, there," He snarled at Greg, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet."

"Big deal," Greg said, shooting a dark look at the man, rubbing his foot where the photographer stepped on it.

Before Ginny could tell him to mind his manners, though, she was momentarily distracted. Harry had heard Greg's remark and looked up. He saw Greg – distinct red hair, brown eyes and freckles – and then he saw Ginny standing beside him. He stared right at Ginny. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "Ginny Weasley?"

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly. Ginny could feel her neck grow warm and her cheeks flush from all the curious stares from everyone around her, not to mention the eager looks on her sons' faces. Harry stepped forward towards her, ignoring the crowd and the staring, "Ginny," he said, smiling warmly, glad that he had not been mistaken.

"Harry," She smiled back at him hesitantly, wishing that they had met under different circumstances. "I didn't know you were back in England," she said as a form of apology for her lack of friendliness.

"I just got back yesterday, really. I hadn't told anyone; thought of surprising you all." He leaned forward, speaking quietly so everyone else who was staring at them could not hear.

"Well, it's been a long time." Ginny felt distinctly uncomfortable, to be under the scrutiny of so many strangers at one time.

Harry must have noticed this because he said, "Yes, it has. Why don't we get out of here? Go grab a drink at Three Broomsticks? I'm almost done."

"Okay," Ginny agreed, somewhat reluctantly.

She had never really been that close to Harry during Hogwarts. They got along rather well, no mistake about that. They had worked together during the Second War as part of DA and were part of the same social circle but they had never really been close. Even after Hogwarts, after the Second War, Harry was just her brother's best friend, an honorary member of the family. He had not been her friend, per say, not like Hermione was.

"Wow, I can't believe we're going out with Harry Potter!" Warren exclaimed as they filed out of the shop, the fresh air awfully revitalizing after being stuck in the crowded shop.

"Please," Ginny began, checking her reflection in the store window, making sure her hair and her robes were in place, "No star struck acts, Warren, and watch your language. He's a family friend, so behave, please," she lectured her sons while they waited for Harry to wrap up his autograph session and join them.

"He doesn't look like a Quidditch star to me," Greg commented, sagely.

"His hair is too messy," Leo spoke up, running a hand through his mop of red hair, "Mine's neater, right, mummy?"

Ginny nodded, biting back a smile. "Of course it is, and you're tons more handsome than he is." She leaned down to kiss him on the cheek affectionately. He was her favorite; always would be; the baby of the family; the perfect image of a cherub.

That was how Harry found them as he stepped out of the shop. He paused to take in the scene before him - Ginny surrounded by her sons, leaning down to kiss the smallest one - taking the opportunity to observe Ginny, his best friend's younger sister, the spunky vivacious red head he used to be acquainted with.

She looked very much different from the dreamy, hopeful young woman who had married Terry Boot many years ago. There was about her face and person strength of color and of feature that rendered her neither delicate nor pliant. There was also about her a quality of a well-worn façade, as if that smile or the usual sparkle in her eye was concealing something beneath, some greater sorrow hidden deep inside.

"Oh, I see I already have competition," he joked mildly, walking towards, them, smiling amusedly.

Ginny straightened up, blushing with embarrassment at Harry's comment. Harry could not help but note that she still blushed as easily.

"And you are?" he asked, looking down seriously at Leo who looked just as somberly back at him.

"Leonardo Boot."

"Humph, with a name like that, I dare say you win hands down," Harry concluded.

"What do I win?" Leo asked, puzzled.

"The fair lady's affections, of course," Harry replied, gesturing towards Ginny.

"She's my mummy, not a fair lady," Leo stated, very fiercely. Any other adult would have laughed patronizingly but Harry looked Leo straight in the eye and nodded in an act of resigned defeat and said, "fair enough."

He straightened up, directing a smirk at the somewhat impressed by thoroughly bemused Ginny. "My goodness, Ginny, he's got your spunk alright."

"You obviously have not met my other sons then." Ginny gestured to the other three boys.

After a polite round of introductions, they made their way to Three Broomsticks.

"You have beautiful children." Harry commented, as he walked beside her, Raphael on her other side, Warren at his side, Greg and Leo in front. They all exchanged pleased grins at his compliment.

"Yes, I know. Frightfully difficult to tell them off when they look so adorable and charming."

"It's not really our fault, Mum," Warren quipped, "It's hereditary."

"Now that's a ladies man, if I ever saw one." Harry said out of the corner of his mouth so that Ginny could only hear him.

She laughed, one of those earthy, husky, knowing laughs that her boys loved to hear and had not really heard in a long time. Even Greg could not help smiling at the sound of his mother's amusement though he was rather wary of the source of her amusement – this man, Harry Potter.

For the rest of the way, Ginny watched Harry talk and laugh with the children; he was very easy with them, something she had never expected. He had always been a rather introverted person, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin and unsure of who he was; this was especially so after the War. Playing Quidditch professionally seemed to have done him wonders – he was so much more easygoing and amiable and self-possessed. Ginny guessed it was living overseas by himself and pursuing his passion that had aided in this change in character.

"So what brings you back to England?" Ginny asked as they stepped inside Three Broomsticks, which was extremely crowded and noisy for a Sunday afternoon.

"Haven't you been reading the well informed Daily Prophet?" Harry asked mockingly, scanning the place for an empty table, ignoring the curious stares thrown in his direction.

"No, not really. I barely have time to sit," she said matter-of-factly.

Harry shot her a sympathetic look. "Well, I'm on hiatus from my Quidditch career. Taking a year off."

"If you're on a break, how come you had an autograph session today?"

"My horrid agent arranged it, obviously trying to make a profit out of me," Harry explained, annoyed with his agent.

"Are you planning to retire soon?" Ginny asked, knowing very well that most Quidditch players lasted only till the late thirties and Harry was already thirty two.

"Maybe, I'll see how it goes..." He shrugged a non-committal gesture as they wound their way to the back of the room where there was a large, vacant table, which stood by the window.

"Raphael, why don't you go get us some drinks?" Harry suggested, smiling at the older boy.

"Sure," He glanced at his mother who handed him a few galleons. Harry thought of offering to pay for the drinks but he knew Ginny well enough to know how she would react to such a gesture, no matter how well intentioned. She had always been the independent sort.

"Get me a Butterbeer," she told him.

"Me too," Harry added.

"I'll come with you," Warren spoke up, eyeing the rowdy bunch of warlocks up at the bar with something akin to keen edged excitement.

"Me three!" Leo crowed, always going wherever Warren went, having a respect bordering on outright devotion for his elder brother.

"Why don't you join them?" Ginny urged Greg, who glanced at his mother thoughtfully before shrugging and obediently sliding off his stool to follow his brothers, trailing behind them disinterestedly.

Ginny watched him, her brows creased in a concerned frown.

Harry, who was sitting on the stool beside her, interrupted her reverie. "How have you been?"

"I'm fine." Ginny shot him a puzzled look.

"I mean, how are you? How are you managing….without Terry?"

"Fine, everyone's been a big help, the boys especially, regular darlings." She glanced at the bar where they were ordering their Butterbeer.

"Ron told you about it, I presume?" she asked, remembering that Ron had said about how apologetic Harry was about not being able to make it for the funeral.

"Yeah, he did. He was quite worried about you, still is; didn't know how you were going to manage the four boys, the house and your job all by yourself-"

"Well, I've done it, haven't I?" Ginny asked peevishly, irritated by her brother's pity and over protectiveness.

She had had more than enough pity the past two years to last her a lifetime. She was sick of being felt sorry for. Pity was the most despicable emotion in the world, as far as she was concerned. That was one reason why she had insisted on keeping her job and raising the boys in their home, Blue Creek Manor – the Boot ancestral home, instead of moving to The Burrow where her mother could take care of everything. She had wanted to prove to everyone, even to herself, that she could do it by herself, that she was capable enough and did not need a single ounce of pity.

"You certainly have," he told her with a certain crisp certainty that made Ginny look up, and really look at him, ponder this man sitting before her.

Harry saw the look on her face, the twist of her lips and he knew what she felt. All those looks of sympathy passed his way when everyone found out about the prophecy, about the inevitable responsibility that had befallen his shoulders. At one point during his teenage years, Harry had not been sure which was worse – the prospect of fighting Voldemort and possibly getting killed by him or the overwhelming pity everyone seemed to feel towards him. Everyone save a few and one of them had been Ginny Weasley.

Harry had never forgotten what she had told him the day before his battle with Voldemort, during the Second War. He remembered that evening so vividly, could recall every single detail if asked to do so even though he had never been one for details. He remembered the somber stifling atmosphere at 12 Grimmauld Place, as they waited for dawn to break, for another day of war to begin. He remembered how young yet old he had felt, sitting there in the living room, by himself.

Then Ginny had walked in, having just visited with Terry who was mildly injured and recovering at St. Mungo's. She had seen the look on his face, shook her head, not with pity but with a frown.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," she had told him sharply. "So if you don't kill him, he'll kill you. That makes it clear what you have to do, doesn't it?" Her words resounded with firmness and assured him in a way nothing else had.

"Kill him," Harry muttered.

Ginny smiled slightly. "Exactly, it's your duty; nothing more." She made it sound as if everyone in this world was born to kill Voldemort and he could not help but believe her.

_It was simple, he could it._ It was at that moment his resolve had been strengthened.

His jog down memory lane was briefly interrupted by the arrival of Raphael carrying three foaming tankards of hot Butterbeer, his brothers behind him.

"Here is yours, Mr. Potter." Raphael placed his Butterbeer on the table in front of him.

"Thanks. Please, just call me Uncle Harry."

"Uncle Harry? You're not my brother!" Ginny protested mildly, smiling amusedly.

"Certainly not," Harry agreed a tad too vehemently for his liking.

He studied Ginny in profile as she helped Leo take a sip of his Butterbeer, his small hands unable to grip his big tankard. The light from the window defined the planes of her face, those prominent cheekbones, her dark brown eyelashes framing her almond colored eyes, the sloping hairline at the temple, the flaming hair pinned up in a messy bun, the long throat, only faintly lined.

His gaze was broken by the prickly sensation of being watched and that was when he noticed that Greg, the second oldest son, was observing him intently, almost suspiciously.

He looked at all of them – Ginny and her sons - and the gravity of the situation finally seemed to set in. This family seemed to have gone through a lot together – from the quiet cynicism in Greg to the unnatural maturity in Raphael to the optimistic façade Ginny seemed to be wearing like a well worn cloak – all these were simply results of the tragedy that had swept through their lives, taking away the one person that had mattered the world to all of them, leaving a gaping chasm in its wake.

For most of his young life, Harry had done things had been obligated to do. That was why a few years after the Second War, he had left to do what he wanted to do – play Quidditch professionally. Now, though, in his middle age, he was beginning to desire very much to do something that would not only make him happy but also make the people around him, people he cared about, happy as well.

"I have a brilliant idea." Harry announced, his green eyes glowing with excitement behind his spectacles, his face breaking into a boyish grin.

"What?" Warren asked, leaning forward eagerly, nearly knocking his Butterbeer.

"Are you doing anything after this?" Harry asked, looking pointedly at Ginny's direction.

"Nothing I can think of." she replied.

"Let's go up to the shrieking shack," Harry offered, eyes glinting merrily.

"Oh, yes!" Warren looked as if Christmas had arrived early.

"Harry, come on now…." She trailed off at the eager looks on her sons' faces, especially the expression of muted interest on Greg's face. They needed to do things that normal boys did and checking out The Shrieking Shack was definitely one of them.

"Well, I guess, we can just have a look. Nothing more."

The whole table broke out in loud cheers, cries of 'hurrah!' and 'Mum, you're the best!'

"I heard that the Shrieking Shack is supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain," Raphael spoke up knowledgeably.

Harry caught Ginny's eye and they both looked away to hide their amused, knowing smirks.

"Can we go now?" Greg asked, his impatience almost surpassing his brothers'. Who could blame him? As wary as he was of Uncle Harry, he had always wanted to see The Shrieking Shack, having heard a lot about it from his uncles and cousins. Seeing was believing, as far as Greg was concerned. He was not willing to put any credit to all the stories he had heard about it, till he saw it for himself.

"Not till I've had my Butterbeer." Harry told him, smiling amiably. He lifted his tankard to his lips and drank deeply. "Merlin, I miss this stuff."

"They don't have it in Italy?" Warren asked, incredulous.

"I don't know about other parts of Italy but they definitely didn't have it in Florence, where I was staying. Trust me, I looked _everywhere_." Harry explained. Everyone laughed.

No one felt like staying indoors much longer on such a fine summer day, so they left Three Broomsticks and climbed the slope to visit the Shrieking Shack. It stood a little way above the rest of the village, and even in daylight was slightly creepy, with its boarded windows and dank overgrown garden.

"Uncle Bill said that even the Hogwarts ghosts avoid it," Warren said as they leaned on the fence looking up at it. "Non one can get in; Uncle Fred and Uncle George tried but all the entrances are shut…"

Ginny shook her head, laughing at her son's blatant admiration for her brothers.

Before Harry could refute Warren on the claims made by the Weasley men, Greg spoke up, "I don't believe all their stories though. Aunt Hermione said there's a logical reason why it's haunted."

"Oh, pish posh, Greg!" Warren cried out hotly. "You _never_ believe in _anything_!"

Something about Warren's tone, or maybe it was the sneer on his face, riled Greg up so much that the usually unaffected boy flew at his brother, tackling him to the ground. Raphael and Leo were on them in a split second.

"Let him go!" Raphael yelled, tugging at Greg's robes, trying to physically pull him off but to no avail.

Leo had thrown himself over Greg, his little fists landing punches so light that Greg barely noticed, shouting at the top of his voice. "Leave Warren! Leave Warren alone!"

Ginny was beside herself with the unruly way her boys were behaving. Their tendency to get into fights had largely increased ever since Terry's death, possibly because she was and had always been the more lenient parent.

Harry stood, frozen, not so much in shock but more because of the hidden poignancy of the scene in front of him. He knew what this fight represented; not a simple quarrel between brothers but more like a conflict of beliefs – Warren's idealism against Greg's skepticism, growing up versus remaining a child.

"Boys!" Ginny yelled sharply, the authority and anger in her voice palpable. "Stop fighting!"

Greg stopped wrestling with his brother and struggled to stand up. Warren, too, got to his feet, tugging his robes into place, running a hand through his hair that was almost as messy as Harry's. Greg looked very much sheepish while Warren was playing the part of the indignant victim rather well. Fortunately, there seemed to be no physical maiming.

"Mum, it was all his fault!" Warren pointed an accusing finger at Greg who was staring at the ground, desolately scuffing the grass with his toe.

"Shush, not another word," Ginny stated, looking reproachfully at the both of them. "I'm very disappointed in the way you," she looked pointedly at Warren, "provoked your brother and the way you," here she looked at Greg, "reacted."

She seemed visibly appalled by their manners, especially in front of an outsider. "Where are your manners?" she asked admonishingly.

"I'm sorry, Mum," Warren said softly, his dark eyes pooled with sincerity.

"So as long as you don't repeat it, please," Ginny reminded him. She glanced at Greg, "Do you have anything to say?"

He looked at his mother, then his brother and shrugged, "I'm sorry too," he mumbled.

"That'll do, I guess," Ginny sighed wearily.

"And you two," She turned upon her eldest and youngest sons who had been standing beside Harry, during her lecture. "I trust you both know that this kind of behavior is not condoned in this family," she told them mildly.

They nodded, obediently.

"Are you alright?" Leo asked Warren, looking up at him concernedly.

"He's alive, isn't he?" Greg muttered darkly, receiving a glare from his brother and a warning look from his mother.

"Well, I think we'd better head back then," Ginny decided, looking at Harry who nodded agreeably.

They took the path back down the slop, Harry walked beside Ginny, as the rest of the boys trailed behind.

"Sorry about that," he apologized to Ginny, who shot him a baffled look.

"What are you apologizing for?"

"I brought them up here, didn't I?"

"It's not your fault, Harry. At least you got Greg interested in something. He's been so quiet and indifferent ever since Terry died. I've been worried about him. He hasn't even had a good cry about it."

"Well, people grief in different ways, don't they?"

Ginny glanced at Harry and remembered then that he too knew how it felt to lose someone you loved. "I suppose so." She regarded him thoughtfully and Harry knew why. He, too, remembered the way he had reacted to Sirius' death - very much the same way Greg reacted to his father's passing away - withdrawing from everything and everyone around him.

He casually hung back to join Greg who was walking slowly, some distance behind the rest of his brothers.

"Hey."

"Hey," Greg responded, with very little enthusiasm. Up ahead, Raphael was talking to his mother, while Warren and Leo raced each other down the slope.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Harry asked him, in the manner of a man sincerely seeking the confidence of another man.

"Okay." Greg looked at him cautiously.

"You must promise not tell anyone, not even your brothers."

"That's fine." Greg shrugged.

"It's about the Shrieking Shack." Now Harry had gotten Greg's full attention. His brown eyes, exactly like his mother's, stared up at Harry, brimming with curiosity.

"Aunt Hermione's right. There's a reason why everyone thinks it's haunted. That's because many, many years ago, there was a student at Hogwarts who was a werewolf-"

"Like Grandpa's friend, Remus?" Greg asked, his eyes as wide as saucers.

Harry smiled, nodding. "It was him actually who was that student and every full moon, he would turn into a werewolf. Since it was unsafe for the other students for him to assume his wolf form in school, Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts at that time, created the Shack so that Remus could spend the night there every full moon."

"But the screams and noises?" Greg asked.

"His transformation used to be very painful so he would shout and scream. The other villagers, who heard this, did not know anyone was inside and simply assumed that it was haunted."

"Wow," Greg breathed. Harry nodded, pleased.

"Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"I promise," Greg stated, resolutely. He looked up at Harry then, opening his mouth as if to say something but very much hesitating.

"What is it, Greg?"

"I-I…thank you for telling me the truth, Uncle Harry," he murmured, so quietly Harry barely heard him.

By then they had reached High street and he no longer had the chance to ask Greg what exactly he had meant.

"Thank you so much for spending your afternoon with us," Ginny said, tilting her head to one side to see his face, a grateful smile painted on her lips.

"My pleasure, really." Harry smiled back at her, meaning every word. He had not had such a carefree, glorious and satisfying afternoon in a while. Somehow Quidditch began to lose its appeal when the pressure of the media dictated every aspect of your life.

"I had a wonderful time with all of you, you boys, especially." He beamed at them.

"Do drop by The Burrow and let Mum and Dad know you're back," Ginny told him.

He nodded, "I certainly will. I'm planning to surprise Ron and 'Mione tonight," he said with a wicked smile.

Ginny laughed, placing her hand on Harry's arm, leaning towards him so that her sons would not hear her. "Please knock before you go in. Those two can never keep their hands off each other."

Harry laughed as well, but he was for some reason only aware of the slight pressure against his arm, pressure caused by Ginny's hand placed casually on his arm, a gesture of complete camaraderie.

"Well, I'll be off then," Ginny said brightly.

"I'll see you around then."

"We'll see." Ginny shot him a coy smile, that made him forget for a moment that she was a widowed mother of four boys, but merely a pretty, flirty, spirited woman.

Then with a wave and a chorus of 'bye, Uncle Harry' from the boys, they took off down High Street towards Honeydukes to Floo back home.

Harry watched them till they were out of sight, having safely reached Honeydukes, before Apparating back to his apartment. As he stepped into the shower a few minutes later, hot water beating down on him, the only thing he could see in his mind's eye was the form and face of Ginny Weasley, and feeling anew the exquisite pressure of her hand against his own arm. Fortunately, the shower, as a hot shower would often do, produced drowsiness sufficient to send him off to his bed, without anymore befuddling thoughts.

**_TBC_**

* * *

**a/n: READ AND REVIEW PLEASE! NO UPDATES OTHERWISE! PLEASE SAVE POOR REVIEW ADDICT!**


	2. Ain't No Valley Low Enough

**Ain't No Valley Low Enough**

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is NOT MINE…_

* * *

Ginny was convinced that the weather affected people much more that it was given credit for. It had be the sudden heat wave that caused the unexpected rise of witches and wizards suffering from hexes, either misfired or otherwise, all inspired by sheer anger. She could not help noticing as she Apparated to the Burrow that even the garden in the front yard was withering from a lack of water despite its tender cultivation. 

She was greeted by the distinct sounds of four boys playing – pit patter of footsteps, loud shouts and even squeals – all emanating from the backyard. It sounded almost the same way it did when she was a young girl with her brothers still staying at home. But that time, her mother's voice could be heard yelling loudly at her children. Now, though, her mother could only bring herself to gently chide her grandsons, secretly loving them more than the rest of her growing brood of grandchildren.

Ginny walked into the kitchen where her mother was bustling about, preparing for dinner, looking extremely flustered from the heat. Her mother had never had the chance to suffer the symptoms of empty nest syndrome – there was always something she had to do, someone she had to look after. After the war, she had been busy with all their weddings, after which there were the grandchildren and ever since Terry got sick, she had been actively involved in looking out for Ginny and nowadays taking care of her grandsons during the daytime when Ginny had to work.

"Hello, Mum," Ginny greeted her, sitting down in a chair, finding relief in doing so after standing and attending to numerous patients all day. "How are the boys?"

"Oh, they're fine." Her mother turned around, blinked at her only daughter, before fixing her with one of her trademark stares.

"What?" Ginny put her hands up after placing her work bag on the table, already feeling guilty for a crime she was not even aware of committing.

"Don't 'what' me, young lady. You know perfectly well what I'm taking about." Her mother said sternly. How was it that her mother was still able to make her feel like a sheepish four-year-old girl with red pigtails?

"Well, this may come as a surprise to you, but I have absolutely no idea what you're going on about," Ginny said, bemused.

Her mother was not relenting. "Oh please!" She looked very exasperated.

Ginny was convinced her mother was bordering on insanity probably caused by the rise in temperature. It was at moments like this when she badly needed her father's calm pragmatism. Unfortunately, her father was either playing with the boys in the backyard or preoccupied with one of his Muggle devices that he loved to tinker with in his work shed

"What is it, Mum? Just tell me," Ginny told her rationally.

"Well, I wished you'd been the one to tell me, and not Ron. Why didn't you have the slightest decency to inform me this morning when you dropped the boys off that Harry was back and that you spent the entire afternoon yesterday, with him?"

Ginny opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, staring at her mother's positively livid expression, "I forgot…I was rushing off for work, Mum; you know how angry Taylor gets if I'm late. Besides, it was no big deal."

"No big deal!" Her mother looked incredulous. "No big deal when Harry comes back after so many years away and spends the very day he's back with you and your sons!"

"Mum, relax; I'm sorry I forgot tell you." Ginny attempted to placate her mother. "It really isn't a big thing. We were at Hogsmeade yesterday and we bumped into him. He took a shining to the boys; you know how they are, always friendly and curious."

Molly smiled, proudly, "Of course, I know, it runs in the family. Why do you think I'm so adorable?"

It took a full minute for Ginny to realize that her mother was joking, in one of her rare fits of jocularity and jovialness. You never could tell with her mother.

"Mother!" Ginny chastised her lack of modesty, laughing.

"Mum!" It was Leo, who had wandered into the kitchen to ask his grandma for a glass of fresh lemonade, and was distracted by the sight of his mother.

He threw himself into her outstretched arms, allowing himself to be showered with affectionate kisses. Even though Ginny had a soft spot for Leo, she loved all her sons, in different ways but just as much as the next. They knew it well enough, never bothering to compete amongst each other for her love.

Besides, as much as she loved her job and would never quit it, being away from her boys for the better part of the day seemed even more distressing and troubling ever since Terry died. They were literally the only thing she had left of her memorable marriage to Terry, her flesh and blood, products of the love Terry had for her and she him. It required a great amount of inner strength to part with them every morning.

So before her mother could prod her even further about the harmless day she had spent in Harry's company, Ginny gathered her sons and returned home. Blue Creek Manor got its name from the creek nearby that ran down the magnificently sloping lawns to a good sized lake.

The house itself was stately, a structure of warm redbrick with a white trim, three stories high, with a shingled barn and house elves as well. It made for a comfortable home, one that Ginny had grown to love as her own.

The memories it held, she could do without. At night it was the worst. After putting her sons to bed and seeing to the house elves, there was nothing else to distract her from the emptiness of her massive marriage bed with four posts or the heart wrenching memories. All those memories of her marriage would rush back to her, memories that she battled to keep locked away.

She would have an image of Raphael as a baby, in his father's arms, his eyes as wrinkled as an old man's, his hair stiff with birth matter. She would recall the dress Terry had bought for her on her twenty-eighth birthday, a sort of red velvet and crinoline confection that sounded like paper as it moved. She would remember the first day Warren walked by himself: he strode wildly, pitched forward and fell into Terry's arms.

It was not just the personal sadness that swept over her so many times during the day – a kind of emptying out of any joy in the moment, and then filling up, as of a well, with sorrow – it was the knowledge of the finality of death. Terry was not going to come back; he was not going to walk through the door as if everything was fine.

Ginny was mulling over this the next day morning, having survived another unpleasant, sleepless night. It was the first day she was on leave from work, having requested to take a week off to be with her sons during their summer vacation.

* * *

Coincidentally, or maybe a matter of fate, Harry, after grabbing an early morning breakfast with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, decided to drop by Blue Creek Manor equipped with the knowledge that the whole family would be at home that day. He missed the boys and wanted very much to spend more time with them. On the other hand, he did not really want to think about the implications of wanting to spend more time with their mother.

If he were honest with himself, he would realize that all day yesterday he had been thinking about Ginny more often than he imagined possible. If Harry actually thought about it carefully, he would realize that ever since Sunday he had been falling harder for Ginny. That was why on this sweltering morning he was here at her doorstep, at her very mercy.

He knocked on the door, completely ignorant of the workings of his own heart, so to speak. One of the house elves answered the door, recognized him instantly and invited him in, directing him to the parlor before hurrying off to announce his arrival to the lady of the Manor.

There were sounds throughout the house that indicated activity: a drawer closing, a shoe dropped, the scrape against the stove of a cast iron pan, and the distinct sounds of children already up and noisy. In the sunlight of the transom windows, dust motes sparkled against the dark woodwork.

Harry should have waited in the parlor, patiently, for the arrival of the mistress of the house, like another other well-mannered guest. But he was never really patient by nature and this morning, he seemed to be in a heat stimulated grip, in some sort of great hurry – to do or say what he had no idea.

So he rose from his seat and climbed the stairs, hoping to barge into the boys' rooms and surprise them. But he never got as far as the boys' bedroom down the hallway, their loud noises his guide.

Ginny who had recently taken up residence in the guestroom, often left her door open a crack to catch a breeze on hot, sultry summer days like today. That was what arrested Harry's attention as he paused midway in his stride, mesmerized by the sight that met his eyes.

Ginny was standing at the mirror in the bedroom, fully dressed, in an attitude of perfect immobility typically uncharacteristic of her nature. Another woman's hands might have fluttered all about herself, refastening her hair for example but Ginny was completely still. So intent was her commune with her image that at first she did not notice Harry's presence at the doorway. But it was not vanity that made her oblivious to her spy; no it was something else, something far more dispiriting.

The golden eyes to which Harry had always subconsciously attributed so much beauty had taken on a look of despair. The luster had gone out of her skin, her lips, that lovely mouth seemed almost bloodless. It was as if he was seeing Ginny in her most naked and vulnerable state - her mask, her pretence at happiness all completely fallen away.

Harry had to bite his lips to keep from calling out and perhaps some sound escaped him, for Ginny started and swiveled in his direction. For one second, before she could compose herself, he experienced the full force of that despair: bottomless, black and irreparable. And though she managed a smile and put some warmth in those golden eyes, Harry was sure of what he had seen and it made whatever joy he had felt all morning about seeing Ginny teeter and collapse. For some unfathomable reason, Harry felt deeply affected by the revelation that Ginny already loved someone else; someone who was physically dead but very much alive in her heart and mind.

"Harry, what a surprise!" Ginny murmured, crossing the room towards him.

"Sorry, I didn't wait downstairs. It was getting rather hot and stuffy in the parlor and the boys sounded like they were having fun so I thought of surprising them…" he trailed off, babbling incoherently.

Ginny nodded, smiling. "I understand. I hate the parlor, myself. It gets terribly cold in the winter and awfully hot in the summer."

She paused in the hallway, and faced Harry. "Why don't you go down to the breakfast room while I check in on the boys?" Ginny suggested. Harry agreed.

* * *

The breakfast room was pampered with crimson roses and trimmed with dark mahogany. As Harry took his seat at the table, the pungent smell of coffee being brewed in the kitchen nearby stirred his senses.

After some time, Ginny arrived, looking flustered from both the heat and the effort required to convince her sons to stop their summer morning ritual of pillow fighting and get dressed for breakfast. The fact that Uncle Harry was here had been rather helpful in getting them moving.

"So what do you want for breakfast?" Ginny asked, taking a seat across from him. Instantly a house elf popped out of thin air and placed a plate of freshly made scrambled eggs and toast in front of her.

Harry patted his already full stomach. "Had breakfast at The Burrow. Your mother really outdid herself." He grinned.

Ginny laughed. "Well, it's not everyday you return to England after so many years. She's missed you, that's all."

Harry wondered briefly if Ginny had ever missed him. True, they had never been close but he had always been a part of her family, as well as inevitably connected to her through mutual friends.

His attention was drawn away at that moment by the happy arrival of the boys, all four of them whose presence was always vivid, as they walked into the room. After enthusiastic greetings of 'Good morning, Uncle Harry!' they settled down to eat, in considerably high spirits since it was the holidays. All of them tucked straight into their porridge the house elves had served, while Leo, ever a finicky eater, looked at his bowl with suspicion.

"It's only porridge, Leo." Ginny said.

"I must have brown sugar and raisins," He said, and Ginny, who often indulged him, nodded to the house elf that was standing by the door.

"You'll look well and happy today," Harry said to them.

"That's because we don't have to rush and get ready to go to The Burrow so that Mum can get to work on time," Raphael explained.

Ginny looked sheepish. "My supervisor, Taylor, hates it when we come in late."

Harry grinned, "Understandable. My coach at Messers made us do three hundred push ups if any of us were late by five minutes."

"That's Lorenzo Machiavelli, right?" Warren asked, well versed in Quidditch.

"Yeah."

"I heard he's a real tyrant," Warren commented.

"He's got a good heart though. He means well," Harry explained.

Warren shrugged, obviously uninterested by such a balanced viewpoint. "Greg drew on the back of our bedroom door," he announced with unconcealed satisfaction, much to the horror of Greg.

"I did not!" he said, though the tell tale sign of his ears turning red and the shifting of his eyes told them otherwise. Greg had always been incapable of a successful un-truth, a quality Ginny had loved in her husband.

It became plainly obvious to Harry that Greg, though silent and distant most of the time, was still a child and even more so in the presence of his brother Warren, who brought out the worst in him.

"You did so," Warren insisted.

"It was a boy on a Quidditch broom," Leo offered this morsel of information helpfully.

"Is that so?" Ginny asked Greg.

His face went as red as tomato, making him all the more upset with himself.

"It was a rather nice drawing, Mum," Raphael spoke up, in an attempt to mollify his mother and defend his brother.

By now one had to have sympathy for Greg who, after all, had committed no crime greater than the display of passion for Quidditch, whereas Warren had committed the graver sin of informing. Thus were the joys of parenthood present to Ginny daily: sorting out the innocent from the not entirely innocent of misdemeanors.

"You have paper to draw on, don't you, Greg?" Ginny asked, gently.

"Yeah, I do, Mum but…" he trailed off, unable to find an adequate explanation for his sudden streak of vandalism.

"After you have eaten your breakfast, you will wash your drawing off the back of the door," Ginny said, quietly.

Greg nodded.

Warren looked unsatisfied, "If Daddy was around-"

He never got to complete his sentence for Ginny had rose from her seat abruptly, her eyes flashing with fury, "Complete that sentence and you will be grounded for the entire summer, I promise you that, Warren Beatty Boot! And if your father was around, he would be horrified with the way you've been treating your older brother with no respect and love whatsoever."

Warren seemed instantly remorseful. He looked quite scared by his mother's unexpected and atypical burst of outrage, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

"I didn't mean it, Mum," He whimpered.

Ginny felt her anger dissipate, quickly replaced by embarrassment at losing her head in front of Harry of all people. She glanced at him, and he was looking at her, not with disgust, not even with pity but with an intently scrutinizing gaze. She wished he would not look at her in such a fashion – it made her feel entirely exposed, as if she was being studied under the lenses of a microscope.

"Just think before you talk from now onwards," she cautioned Warren, taking her seat.

"So what are your plans for today?" Harry asked, changing the direction of the conversation and lightening the atmosphere.

"I was thinking of having a picnic down by the lake, and the boys could go swimming."

"Yeah! Swimming!" Leo crowed with delight.

"Absolutely wicked!" Raphael responded with a grin.

"You could join us, of course," Ginny told Harry.

He shrugged, "Don't think there's anything else of any importance I should be doing today, so yes, count me in."

* * *

"Prince Leo, let me know when you want the troops to fire," Raphael bowed to his youngest brother, waiting for his orders.

Some distance away, standing on the grassy area near the bank of the lake, was the Great Evil Wizard – Harry in a conjured up dark cloak that covered his face – and his two minions, Greg and Warren, looking unconvincingly evil.

Ginny sat under the shade of the huge maple tree, on the large picnic mat, completely amused in the scene unfolding before her. Her sons always had an active imagination, engaging in all sort of scenarios of make believe that she loved to watch and sometimes, even be a part of. Terry had always humored them, reluctantly playing along but very much preferring to sit by, watch and laugh. Harry on the other hand seemed downright thrilled to be playing with the boys, obviously having suffered from a severe lack of a childhood.

"We will attack the kingdom, soon!" he roared convincingly, startling his two minions.

"Yeah!" Warren crowed.

Greg looked unconvinced, but then again he was previously one of Prince Leo's knights now under an Imperius Curse by the Great Evil Wizard.

"I don't want to fight," he said to Harry.

"What? Giving up? You cannot give up. Do you know why among all those knights I captured you?" Harry asked him, seriously. Greg shrugged.

"Because you are my long lost son!" Harry announced. Warren, in a fit of inspired dramatic flair, collapsed onto the grass, as if shocked to death by his master's declaration.

Greg stared up at Harry, his eyes cold and clear, "You are _**not**_ my father." The icy tone in his voice was unmistakable before he spun on his heel and stomped off.

Harry straightened up, the stab of pain he had felt in the morning when chancing on Ginny returning in its full force, piercing him in the spot where he assumed his heart to be.

Ginny, having witnessed and heard the entire exchange, stood up, moving quickly towards Greg, pulling him into her arms. "What's wrong, darling, what is it?"

Greg shook his head, silently as he coiled his arms around his mother's waist without hesitation. He was in his bathing suit, like the rest of his brothers, but as dry as a bone since he had not joined the other boys in their swim earlier, having always had an intense fear of the water.

Greg just did not willingly go near water. 'It's impossible,' Terry had toldGinny one summer when Greg was four or so, having returned from a swim in the lake with his sons, 'to teach Greg to swim because he refuses to get into the water.'

When they visited Terry's Muggle aunt in Florida, Raphael ran into the waves; Terry had to chase him and explain the undertow. Even Warren, a mere toddler then, struggled to get out of Terry's arms and paddle. Greg would not even walk on the damp sand.

"There is too much water," he told Ginny solemnly.

"Greg," she had coaxed him then, "come in, just a little, Mummy will hold you."

"Is that the deep end?" His terror was like a scent on him. "I don't want to go into the deep end. Do I have to go?"

"No, no, darling." Ginny said, scooping him up, unsure whether she should just stomp straight out there and dip him into the water, get it over with. She did not want her son to grow up timid of this and of that. "I'll hold you really tight. I won't let the ocean snatch you away."

"You know what?" Greg told her, buying time. "You can go to the deep end. You can go there. You just start walking, until it goes over your head and then you keep on walking on the bottom. But then if you want to go back, that's too hard because the water just rubs all the, all the…."

"What, Greg?"

"All the feet marks fade away. You can't ever turn around and go back. You can't find it." And Ginny, chilled, sat with him, all that long afternoon, high on the brow of the beach, scooping sand.

Now, as she stood there embracing Greg, while Harry continued to play with the other boys, she felt as if she had walked into the deep end and could not seem to find her way back to shore.

Greg slowly moved away, removing his arms from around his mother's waist.

"You alright, now?" Ginny asked. He nodded, sitting on the picnic mat. Ginny joined him and handed him a sandwich. He gobbled it up ravenously.

Awhile later, the rest, all sweaty and starving, joined them. After lunch, the boys went for another swim – not really a proper swim since all they really did was attempt to splash as much water on each other as possible. Greg chose to sit on the bank safely, watching them.

That left Harry, full from the delicious lunch, sprawled out under the shade of the tree, beside Ginny who was looking out to the lake wistfully, leaning against the trunk of the tree.

There was a lazy lethargy in the hot afternoon air. Harry bit back a yawn. He glanced at Ginny, who pulled a pin from her hair, the sight of the cascade of flame colored hair falling from the undone knot momentarily compelling.

"Why don't you swim as well?" he asked her.

"I would, normally. I just don't feel like it." Harry was so distracted by the image of Ginny in a bathing costume, slipping into the water of the lake, that it was some moments before he could continue the conversation.

"So tell me," he began, "Tell me about how they were born..." He trailed off, wondering if she would think he was prying. He was simply curious about all the facts of these boys' lives that he had missed out on.

Ginny did not seem to mind. She smiled, settling back against the trunk, her legs stretched out comfortably and crossed at the ankles.

"Well, let's see; Raphael was the easiest. He was born a year and two days after our wedding. The moment I went into labor, he was born, just like that. He was such a sweet baby too. Warren was easy as well. He was born in two hours, went right to the breast, and camped there for 4 days. His blanket looked just like a cape; even the nurses thought so. He loves hearing that story about how he was born a hero."

"Leo was the hardest. Merlin, the healer was worried that my spine would burst. He was a really big baby and carrying him was not easy at all. My back was constantly aching. I was practically bedridden during the last two months. Terry had to carry me to the bathroom when I wanted to go to the loo. It was brutal labor as well. The healers had no choice but to operate." She shuddered at the memory of all that pain, not just the pain of the labor but the pain of not having Terry around, not having him be there for her always, like he was during those times, holding her hand, wiping her tears, laughing with her.

"What about Greg?"

"28 hours. The doctors wanted to go in and get him, but I knew he'd come at his own time. You can never rush him."

"I'll keep that in mind,." Harry murmured.

"Was it very bad?" he asked, quietly, "when Terry got sick?"

Ginny drew in a deep breath, letting the air out in a loud sigh.

"If you don't want to talk about it, it's fine. I really shouldn't be asking either," Harry quickly said, mistaking her sigh for distress and reluctance to speak.

Ginny shook her head. "It's fine. If anything, you're the best person for me to talk about this to. I mean, you've known grief before," she told him sincerely. Her words gave him hope; hope that he was being accepted, not as lover, but maybe as a friend.

So she told him all about the last year of her marriage, before it ended with the death of her husband. She told him how it had been a real agony, a complex series of organ failures and cluster catastrophes that started with a kidney cyst, hurtling toward death with absurd speed that ended the day she brought Terry home from St. Mungo's after breakfast only to leave again in a hearse after dinner.

"It was a horrible train wreck, a blunt invasion of our marriage." Ginny murmured, softly. She was dry eyed, having already wept every remaining tear she had, some time ago.

"Merlin," Harry muttered, shaking his head. Impulsively, he reached across the picnic mat and covered her hand with his, squeezing her fingers tenderly, reassuringly. She smiled at him gratefully.

"I remember when you two started dating back at Hogwarts," Harry said, in an attempt to change the direction of a conversation to one of more positive overtures.

Ginny nodded, a glazed look in her eyes as she remembered, a wisp of a smile on her lips. "No one thought we'd last. _We_ never thought we'd last. We were too young - I was only sixteen - and too different. But he always made me laugh…"

"Ron was sure he was just another one of your many short-term boyfriends."

"_Many_ boyfriends?" Ginny asked, wryly.

"Hey, you dated a lot of boys back then," Harry reminded her. She rolled her eyes.

"Why didn't we ever date, back in Hogwarts?" Harry wondered aloud.

"We were too self-absorbed in our own lives, too much alike then…"

"And now?" he asked causally.

"Too old-"

"Speak for yourself, Gin. I'm a sprightly thirty two year old wizard in the prime of his life," Harry declared mock indignantly.

"Are you, now? Don't look it," Ginny stated with a straight face.

"What?" Harry was incredulous.

A cosmic laugh – unfettered, releasing months of grim remorse, bubbled up inside Ginny and broke the surface. The laughing itself was so contagious that Harry himself could not help chuckling along with her, that even her sons splashing about in the lake heard their mother and smiled to themselves.

"You needed that," Harry told her.

She smiled at him, and, as easily as that, felt another tide come for her at last.

* * *

The sun, blazing in all its afternoon glory, seemed not to deter Harry nor the Boot boys, all extremely keen on having a game of Quidditch.

"Let's see." Harry walked up and down studying the line up of boys before him. "Due to a severe shortage of players, we'll just have a keeper and a chaser in one team and a keeper and two chasers in the other team," he decided.

"Can I be in your team?" Warren asked quickly, eagerly, clutching his Firebolt 2.1.

"I think you'll be better with Raphael and Leo." Seeing the slightly crestfallen look on Warren's face, Harry quickly added, "Leo's a little small and unsteady on his broom so I thought you'd be able to help him a bit."

Warren seemed consoled by the fact that Harry trusted his Quidditch abilities to the extent of being able to guide his brother.

"Come on, Leo, let's do a warm-up round," he said to his younger brother before taking off on his broom, Leo and Raphael at his tail.

"And you are in my team," Harry told Greg, who shrugged.

"I can't fly," he stated matter-of-factly, clutching his seemingly well used Firebolt 2.1.

"Have you flown before?" Harry asked.

"No." Greg shook his head. It was a blatant lie.

He had flown before, played Quidditch with his brothers and fathers dozens of times, but ever since his father died he had locked his Firebolt in the closet, vowing never to touch it ever again. Quidditch was something he had shared with his father.

While Warren and Raphael were knowledgeable about the various Quidditch teams, leagues and showed great enthusiasm for the game, Greg had an exceptional skill on his broomstick: his quick reflexes; his stunning, sharp dives; his ability to grab the snitch within the shortest span of time. It was his father who saw this talent in him and told him so. They would spend countless hours during the holidays and even on weekends, playing Quidditch, practicing and honing his skills. One day, his father always told him, you will become a Quidditch player as great as Harry Potter.

By now, it was quite obvious that Greg was lying. Harry put his hand on the younger boy's shoulder, crouching so that they were eye to eye. "Listen, Greg, I know I am not your father. Trust me on this; I know I can never take his place. But I knew him for a while, back when we were in school together and even during The Second War and from what I know of him, I would think he'd be rather disappointed to find out that one of his sons doesn't play Quidditch anymore."

Greg stared at him intently. "Are you sure?"

"You know me; I'd never lie to you," Harry said, looking Greg right in the eye.

Greg looked over Harry's shoulder at his mother, who sitting on the picnic mat under the tree, absorbed in her book: his mother whom he loved, his only remaining parent; his mother who did not know about his secret vow; his mother who took as much pride in his Quidditch talent as his father. What would she think if he backed out of this game?

"Okay, then," Greg agreed.

"Good man," Harry grinned, pleased, patting Greg's shoulder.

Warren flew towards them, then. "Hope you'll aren't talking about anything too serious?" he asked, teasingly.

"Just talking about how we're going to beat you," Greg shot back, climbing onto his broomstick.

"Hear, hear!" Harry crowed in support, taking off in to the air after Greg.

The game was an exciting eventful one. Both teams were well matched, save for Leo who was much more interested in flying close to the ground just to feel the wonderful sensation of his toes brushing against the grass than in catching the Quaffle.

Raphael was good at blocking the Quaffle, but not half as good as Greg was at scoring. Even Warren's rather apt attempts at trying to get the Quaffle from his brother and score, and Harry's average Keeper skills did not hinder their landslide victory of 160 points against the other team's 100 points.

As the sun begun to show signs of setting, they ended the vigorous game, both teams shaking hands, Leo preferring to throw his arms around Harry and hug him, even though it was his team that had lost. They helped Ginny gather the food basket, picnic mat and other things before heading back up to the house.

"Mummy, can we have Uncle Harry for dinner?" Leo asked his mother, as they walked towards the house.

"Have him over for dinner; we're not cannibals." Ginny told him, laughing, exchanging amused looks with Harry. The rest of the boys smirked.

Even Greg looked exceedingly cheerful after the rather gratifying Quidditch game after such a long time. His cheeks were flushed with color, his hair wet with sweat stuck straight up like mowed grass and his lips spread into a boyish grin. Ginny could not help but think, as she studied her son, that this was the first time in a while she had seen him look so much like any other normal eight year old boy.

**_TBC_**

* * *

**Author's note**

Thank you for the overwhelming response. I have never gotten over twenty reviews for just a first chapter.

Thanks goes to my wonderful beta reader, '**_Don'tletmegetme_**'!

It is inspired by Finding Neverland but NOT based on it. The ending and plot line will be very much different. I love that movie by the way and Johnny Depp in it.

Fanfiction website will remove my stories because of the song lyrics? Why? They did not do so to my other stories where I had song lyrics in them..

Harry DID not take a break from quidditch career just because Terry died – note that Terry died a year ago. Harry isn't married because he was too preoccupied with his quidditch career to think about settling down, now though….we'll just have to wait and see won't we?

Lol. You like the word 'befuddling'?

Am certainly taking your sound advice – you're absolutely right. My best stories are the ones I complete in as little as six chapters. I have already planned to complete this story in seven chapters at most. The problem with Werewolf's Wedding is that I have already written the ending but do not how to get from the chapter I have posted to the ending I have written.

If I told you the plot, what would be the fun in reading my story? Let me give you a hint though – the boys might not be the only ones Harry has to worry about when it comes to being accepted and being loved by that family.

The dialogue's bad? I'll try and improve.

**_REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW ADDICT NEEDS HER FIX!_**


	3. Ain't No River Wide Enough

**Ain't No River Wide Enough**

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is NOT MINE…_

* * *

For the next few weeks, Harry became painfully alert and aware of the workings of his heart; a hard thumping that made him put his hand to his chest. 

As he spent more and more time with Ginny and her sons, he grew increasingly puzzled and overwhelmed by the feelings evoked in their presence, specifically Ginny's.

Like that one late afternoon, as he stood at the second story window with Ginny, looking down together at the boys playing Quidditch, watching Greg show his brothers a few tricks that Harry had taught him. It was at that moment that Harry experienced pride commingled with the purest sort of joy, and it seemed that day that Ginny smiled not only upon her sons, but upon him as well. So encouraged was he by that entirely spontaneous, beautiful smile that he almost blurted out his feelings for her.

Why, _why_, Harry often asked himself, was it this woman and not another? Why the curve of that particular cheek and not another? Why the gold of those eyes and not the blue of others? He had, in his lifetime, seen a hundred- no a thousand beautiful women – lifting skirts to step over piles of snow, fanning long necks in restaurants, undressing in the dim electric lights of his apartment in Florence – but none had ever had upon him the effect Ginny Weasley had: a sensation quite beyond that which can be explained by magic.

Even back at Hogwarts, it had never been this way. Yes, he had been mildly attracted to her back then but it was nothing like what he felt now; so profound; so gripping.

All this was running in his mind as he Apparated to the Lovegoods' place some distance beyond the village of Ottery St. Catchpole.

There was a huge tent on the field surrounding the house, people were already milling about inside, looking for seats, chatting, waiting for the wedding to start. Harry searched the crowd for any familiar face, bound to find at least one, since he was well acquainted with both the bride and bridegroom.

He remembered Ginny's response upon receiving the invitation to witness the wedlock of Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood – "It's about bloody time," she had muttered, shaking her head with a smile.

The long-standing relationship between Luna and Neville was legendary. There had been bets going around about when they would _ever _get married, what with Neville too shy to propose and Luna too dreamy and quirky to bother with something so ordinary.

Unable to find either Ginny or the boys, Harry managed to locate Hermione and Ron seated in one of the pews in front.

"Hello!" Harry grinned at his best friends.

"Hey!" Ron rose from his seat, enveloping Harry in a hearty embrace, followed by Hermione who hugged him and pecked him on the cheek affectionately.

"Gosh, we've barely seen you since you got back," Hermione chided him as he sat down beside her.

"I had dinner at your place two weeks ago," Harry protested.

"So? That's it? That's how you plan to keep in touch with your best friends? Just dinner fortnightly?" Hermione glared at him.

"Don't you have anything to say about this, Ron?" Hermione turned upon her husband who cleverly shifted the blame back to Harry with a smug smile and a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrow, "And we both know why we barely see much of him."

Harry managed to look nonplussed at the smirk Ron was throwing his way.

"A lot of people have been talking about you spending a lot of time with Ginny and the boys," Hermione informed him.

Harry shrugged. "So what if they do? People always want something to talk about."

"Don't think I haven't noticed that you spend more time with my sister than any other woman you've ever been with," Ron spoke up, a concerned frown replacing the smirk on his face.

"It's nothing, Ron, really, we're just friends," Harry reassured him. Ron nodded, his doubts and concerns for his younger sister's welfare not completely assuaged.

Hermione shot Ron a dirty look. "I think what Ron meant to say is that he just does not want his sister to get hurt, that Ginny's still in a vulnerable state," she explained benignly to Harry.

"You think I don't know that, Hermione? That family needs someone to be there for them," he told her, earnestly. Hermione fixed him with a scrutinizing gaze as if she was mulling over something.

"You're right, and you know what, you're probably the best person for the job," Ron admitted sheepishly.

Harry smiled at him, forgivingly.

"If you hurt her though, I'd have to break every bone in that body of yours," Ron told him sternly.

"Relax, mate; I'll be as a good a friend to her as you've been to me."

"Oh, then we're in trouble, aren't we?" Hermione quipped teasingly, coming out of her reverie.

* * *

"Oh dear, oh dear, we're going to be so very late," Ginny murmured, buttoning Greg's suit jacket. 

"Mum, I'm ready," Leo cried out triumphantly as he stood resplendent in his suit and polished shoes; except for one important thing.

"Where are your socks, darling?" Ginny asked. Leo stared at her, bewildered. "Wait right here," she told him. Having finished buttoning Greg's suit jacket, Ginny told him to go downstairs and wait.

"Warren!" Ginny called out, as she rummaged in Leo's closet for a pair of clean socks.

"Yes, Mum." Warren walked in.

"Are you ready?" she asked him as she pulled Leo into her lap, pulled off his shoes, and put his socks on for him.

"Yes," he said. She glanced at him.

"Your shirt, sweetheart, how does it always get untucked?" she muttered, setting Leo back on the floor and tended to Warren's untucked shirttails.

"When you get up after the wedding, don't forget to check if it's undone," she reminded him. He nodded obediently. "Leo, go downstairs and wait with your brothers-"

"Mum, I found the invitation." It was Raphael popping his head into the bedroom, waving the white wedding card in his hand.

"Wonderful." Ginny patted Warren's suit and smoothed down his hair, "Bring your brothers down with you. I need to grab my purse and earrings and I'll be down," she told him.

She went to her bedroom, and looked for her earrings in her jewellery box. She paused then, taking a deep breath, enjoying the brief moment of quiet, before facing the imminent chaos of Flooing to Luna's place.

It had been a while since she attended one of these formal functions, the last one having been Terry's own funeral. At the service they had said nice things about him but she had sat through it, numb. Leo kept squeezing her hand, but she did not even notice. She barely blinked. All the boys had been in their suits, which were freshly tailored for the occasion.

During the final hymn, as the entire family stood, someone standing inside the doorway of the hall caught her attention. Ginny thought she recognized him. Their eyes locked. Then she passed out - from exhaustion everyone had said but she knew what she saw – the last lingering vision of her husband, a figment of her longing for him.

She glanced at the framed picture of Terry on her dressing table – a studio portrait he had gotten done during the fall after they got married, for his job at Gringotts. She looked into the crystal blue eyes of the photograph. What did dead mean, Ginny wondered. It meant lost; it meant frozen; it meant gone. She knew that no one ever really looked the way they did in photos. She had come to realize over the months that it was not Terry in that photograph.

He was in the air around her, he was in the quiet time spent alone between work and tending to the children, he was in the summer afternoons and evenings she had now with Harry. He was the man she had chosen to spend her life with. Ginny wanted, somehow, to set him free. She did not want to burn his photo or toss it away, but she did not want to look at him anymore either.

She slipped the photograph out of the frame and placed it in one of the giant volumes of Greek poetry in which she had pressed dozens of fragile flowers that were slowly turning to dust.

"Mum." It was Warren, who had been sent upstairs to inform their mother that the carriage was ready. Ginny slid the book back on the shelf.

"The carriage is here," he told her.

"Great, let's go then," she said, smiling. She took his hand in hers and they made their way down the stairs together. There was, after all, no greater foundation to fall upon than family.

* * *

Harry finally caught sight of Ginny after the wedding ceremony, as they made their way to the patio where lunch was being served. He sensed her before he saw her. He turned and there she was walking towards the patio with her eldest brother Bill, moving at a slow and stately pace, the skirt of her ivory dress robes making a rippling brook behind her. She had plum colored beads threaded through the curls of her hair and knotted at the nape of her neck. Her pendant earrings quivered as she walked. The boys were trailing behind her, looking handsome in their suits. 

It was Greg who caught his eye and waved at him vigorously, nudging his older brother who glanced his way and waved as well. Soon the whole bunch of boys was waving at him. Harry grinned, making his way towards them, touched by the enthusiasm they displayed at the sight of him.

"Hullo." Harry smiled at them. "How's everything?"

"I fell asleep." Leo smiled sleepily.

"The wedding was rather long," Raphael admitted.

"Are all weddings that long?" Greg asked.

"If they are, I'm not ever going to get married," Warren stated firmly. Harry choked back his laughter.

"Harry!" It was Ginny, who upon detaching herself from her beloved brother, turned to find her sons busy conversing with the one person she had been looking high and low for.

"I was looking all over for you. I thought you didn't turn up," she said as she approached him, a tender smile on her face. She leaned towards him and gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek.

"So have my sons been harassing you?" Ginny asked, mock sternly.

"Now, Gin, you should know better than to ask such a question." The four of them exchanged smug grins at Harry's comment but their smiles were instantly replaced by a unified indignant outcry at his next words: "That's something they _always_ do," Harry said teasingly, a smirk on his face. Ginny laughed.

It was a sign of how much he had come to mean to all of them, even the boys, that such a comment was taken in pure jest and humor and there were no hurt feelings.

"I'm hungry, Mum," Leo whined.

"Let's go eat then," Ginny suggested.

"Shall we?" Harry asked her, holding his arm out, eyebrow arched in question, slightly bowing in mock courtesy, and a delightfully mischievous smile on his face.

The children laughed at the sight of Uncle Harry acting up with their mother. Ginny nodded, fluttering her eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion, slipping her arm through his before making their way to the patio, the boys at their heels, giggling and laughing.

All hell broke loose at the patio. "Darren! Daniel!" Raphael crowed at the sight of his older cousins, Charlie's two sons. They were shortly joined by most of the Weasley grandchildren, all shouting, laughing, and squealing.

"My goodness, you'd think the last time they saw each other was decades ago instead of last Sunday." Alicia Spinnet, Fred's wife, shook her head, sighing, as she joined Ginny and Harry at the buffet table.

"You telling me," Ginny laughed."Where's Leo?" She scanned the mostly red heads of noisy children, worriedly.

Harry caught sight of Leo tugging at Bill's daughter Amber's pigtails repeatedly. He nudged Ginny and pointed him out.

"Goodness," she murmured under her breath, "I thought he was hungry."

"**_Leo!"_** she called out; her loud voice got his attention. He trotted over towards them.

"Come on, you wanted to eat, didn't you?" Ginny asked him, taking a plate for him.

"But Mum…" Leo trailed off, glancing longingly in the direction of his cousins, brothers, and some other children from Luna and Neville's family.

"After some food, you can go play with them." Ginny told him. He still looked slightly miffed.

She leaned towards Harry and spoke out of the corner of her mouth so Leo would not notice. "Could you get the other boys to come and eat as well. They didn't have time for a proper breakfast and need to eat something. Besides, Leo'll pull a fuss if he sees his brothers with the other children."

Harry nodded, and, before he moved off, Ginny reached out and squeezed his hand, gratitude etched on her face. He smiled at her and shook his head, as if to say it was nothing; all this was nothing compared to what he felt being with them – contentment, bliss, and a sense of self-worth.

Harry returned a minute later, the boys in tow. They were all grumbling and had some sort of complaint.

"You'll need to eat. If not you won't be able to outrun your cousins when you play catching later." Ginny attempted to reason with them, but she might as well have been speaking Greek.

Only Leo looked happy now that he was not the only one being forced to eat.

"I love you, Warren," he said, in a sudden spirit of love inspired by the fact that his brother had to suffer the same fate as himself.

Warren smirked.

"He loves you," Ginny said. "Can't you be nice?"

"I love you, Leo," Warren said. "I don't want to eat, Mum."

"Let's look at it this way," Harry told him, passing plates to all of them as they stood waiting for their turn: "If you don't eat now, then when you get hungry later after playing with your cousins, you'll have nothing to eat, all the food will be gone." Harry pointed to the people queuing behind them to help themselves to the buffet to make his point.

They seemed temporarily assuaged. Warren even had one of those flashes of egregious tenderness that he had only with Leo and Ginny, never with his older brothers. And never, ever with Terry because, like his two older brothers, Warren's love for his father never flickered between attachment and irritation; it was utter.

Warren reached out and clasped Leo around his belly and pretended to get one of his fingers stuck beneath Leo's arm. "Tickle, tickle, you old fuzzhead, Leo," he said, and Leo writhed in ecstasy.

Harry exchanged amused glances with Ginny. It was at that precise moment that Ginny finally noticed Harry; really _saw_ him, and was reminded of how handsome he had grown over the years.

"What is it?" Harry asked as Ginny stared at him with an utterly disorientated expression on her face.

"Nothing," she murmured, looking away, an evident blush rising up from her neck, tinting her cheeks. Harry stared at her, his chest constricting momentarily. Did Ginny just blush at the _mere **sight**_ of him?

* * *

After ensuring that the boys were well fed – with the help of Harry - and happily playing with the other children, congratulating and ragging the bride and bridegroom – with the aid of Harry - and catching up with all her friends from Hogwarts, Ginny finally found an opportunity to sit down for a bit. 

Unfortunately, the seat happened to be beside her parents, specifically her mother. Now, Ginny adored her parents, but of late, her mother had been behaving rather alarmingly. She kept giving her these intent looks whenever Harry was by her side. Then she would make all these suggestive comments to Ginny when Harry was out of the earshot. Ginny could not count the number of times she had to remind her mother that they were just friends.

"Hello, Mum." Ginny smiled at her mother, a warning tone lacing her voice, as Harry was standing right behind her.

Mrs. Weasley smiled, hugging her daughter, and then moving on to embrace Harry, "Lovely wedding, eh?"

"Good food, too," Mr. Weasley added after kissing his daughter affectionately on the forehead.

"We haven't really eaten yet," Ginny told her father.

"How about I go get some drinks and food for us?" Harry offered.

Ginny nodded agreeably, sitting down with her parents while Harry walked off towards the buffet table.

"I should have told him to get the roasted chicken." Mr.Weasley shook his head regretfully.

"I'm sure he will," Ginny reassured her father, smiling.

"Never mind that," Mrs. Weasley frowned, somberly, "We have more important things to discuss."

"We?" Mr. Weasley's eyebrows raised a notch, questioningly. He shrugged his shoulders, giving his daughter a thoroughly baffled look.

Mrs. Weasley ignored him, plunging on. Ginny knew that look on her mother's face, the one with the purposeful gleam in her eyes.

"Ginny, darling," she grasped her hands in her own, "When am I going to see _you_ married?"

Ginny gasped at her mother, her eyes widening in shock, her jaw going slack. Then as her mother's full intentions sank in, she steeled herself, fixing her mother with a death glare of some sort; "In case you haven't noticed, Mother, I was married," she snapped.

"Exactly my point, sweetheart." Molly persisted, despite the warning look from her husband, "When are you going to move on?"

Ginny however was no longer paying her mother any attention. She was sitting there, in complete astonishment, not with her mother but with herself. Had she just said that she _was_ married? She had never done that before. All this while she had said it in the present tense, _I am married_; that was what she told people. It was one thing to put Terry's picture away but this was a whole other thing for her.

"Gin?" It was Harry, who had returned to the table. He instantly noticed something was off with Ginny, already attuned to her face, her emotions.

As he set the food-laden plates and drinks on the table, he saw the tremor, the inside shake off of her heart. She was so good at covering up the cracks and fissures that no one, not even her parents, could see her do it. She could shut the whole world out, including herself.

"I'm fine," she said.

But Harry knew she was not. He and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley watched her back as she departed.

"I was trying to advise her," Mrs. Weasley said weakly.

Harry did not say anything. Without hesitation, he decided to look for Ginny. He searched through the crowd and when he could not locate her, he went into the house. She was neither in the parlour nor in the powder room.

He climbed the stairs and heard a sound in one of the rooms. Since everyone else was out in the patio, Harry knew it had to be Ginny. Approaching the room, he hesitated just one second outside the doorway as the memory of coming upon Ginny on that summer day sometime ago pushed itself forward- the hollow and ravaged expression in her eyes.

He shook the vision from his thoughts and allowed forward momentum to propel him across the threshold, where he beheld no more harrowing a sight that that of Ginny sitting on the bed, her eyes red rimmed and swollen. She took a breath of air and raised her head.

"Gin," he said, "you got your parents all worried about you."

"They're _always_ worried about me." She sighed. "They never think I can do anything by myself."

"That's not fair, Ginny. They love you and they've seen you go through so much. They just want you to be happy, that's all."

Ginny glared at Harry. "Do you know what my mother said?" At Harry's perplexed shrug, she continued: "She wants me to get married."

Harry bit back a smirk. "But she's been implying that for some time now, hasn't she?"

"Yes, she's mad, I tell you. I have four sons and enough emotional baggage to send any wizard running in the other direction. Who'd want to marry me!" Ginny scoffed.

Harry had to resist every impulse to get down on his knee and offer himself to her. Instead, he sat down on the bed beside her. "That's not what's upsetting you, is it?" He asked, perceptively.

Ginny nodded, used to Harry's emotional astuteness. Sometimes he knew her better than she knew herself. A red strand of hair fell from her face where she had tucked it behind her ear. Harry could not help but notice how it softened her face.

"It's just that…I'm scared…scared of letting go of Terry..." She trailed off, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm scared that if I let him go, I'll forget him, I'll never feel him..."

Harry touched her shoulder. "Do you think the dead we love ever truly leave us? You think we do not recall them more clearly in times of trouble and need?"

Ginny glanced at Harry, and felt that flash of emotion she had experienced earlier at the buffet table. She studied his face, his green eyes shone with intelligence, his eyebrows knitted together in an earnest frown.

"You have loved Terry with all your heart," he told her.

"Yes, I have."

"It is a treasure, to be able to love someone in that way, so thoroughly, so freely, and to be loved back just as much. Do you understand? Do you know how much that is worth? I envy you, Ginny!" Harry said.

She was stunned by the ferocity of his statement. This was so unlike him. For a long moment neither of them moved, Harry mulling over all the people he had loved and cherished who had been robbed from his life by death.

Ginny thought about what she and Terry had shared, how she had come to take it for granted, even after his death, assuming that letting go of Terry and moving on would meantrivialising the love they had shared. Harry was right – what she and Terry had was beyond that – they had been wholly and deeply in love. It was not a crime to put it in the past and move on. She did not have to feel guilty about telling people that she _was _married rather than she _is_. It would not tarnish their love, their marriage, or their years together.

Ginny remembered then when she first noticed Terry. It was his last year at Hogwarts. In just a few short years, Terry Boot had grown so handsome that a spell radiated from him when he walked through the hallways. His adult face had still not settled on him, but, now that he was seventeen, it was just around the corner. He exuded a dreamy asexuality that made him attractive to both men and women, with his long lashes and hooded eyelids, his thick black hair, and the same delicate features that were still a boy's.

By then, he had noticed her as well. They started dating during spring. They were shy about their affection for each other. They did not hold hands in the hallways at school; they did not pass notes. They sat together at lunch; Terry walked her to the Gryffindor tower every night. On her sixteenth birthday, he brought her a cupcake with a candle in it.

But with the heat of the summer, something grew in them like weeds. It was lust, desire, longing. Ginny had never felt it so purely or seen it move so hotly in someone she knew. They set up little meetings at the village near The Burrow, or by a certain tree in the field nearby that they had marked up high with their initials. They kissed. They wanted to do more but could not. Terry wanted it to be special. He was aware that it should be perfect; Ginny just wanted to get it over with. Have it behind her so she could achieve adulthood – transcend the place and the time.

The day before the battles began he came to see her. It was the end of the summer. They went down to the lake near The Burrow. Under a rowboat that was too old and worn to float, Ginny lay down on the earth with Terry, and he held her.

"You know I'm okay," she said, her eyes dry. "I'll miss you like crazy though."

"It'll be fine. After the war, we'll get married." At that moment, Ginny could think of nothing else she would want more.

Terry's back was flush against the ground, and he brought her close into his body to protect her from the dampness of the quick summer rain. Their breath began to heat the small space beneath the boat, and he could not stop it – he went hard inside his pants.

Ginny reached her hand over.

"I'm sorry…" he began.

"I'm ready," she told him.

They made love for the first of a thousand more times, the last time being five months before his death. On that summer evening, Terry turned to her and said, "Have you ever made love in the ocean?"

And she had said, "No."

"Neither have I," he said. "Let's pretend it is the ocean and that I am going away and we might never see each other again."

Ginny cried when she came that night.

Now, she smiled; a bittersweet smile at the recollection of all those memories. She leaned towards Harry and rested her head on his shoulder. He slipped his arm around her waist, comfortingly.

"You've been such a great friend, Harry. You've come to mean so much to the boys…and me."

Harry smiled, looking down as Ginny titled her face upwards to smile at him. Harry wanted to place his hand on her cheek, smooth her hair back from her face and kiss her, but he did not.

As they stood to leave the room and join everyone else downstairs, Ginny slipped her hand in his. "Thank you," she murmured, knowing fully well that those two words could not encompass what Harry's friendship had done for all of them.

Harry knew then that he was completely done for, that even if he wanted to leave Ginny and the boys and go on with his own life, he could not; it would be an impossible feat. His heart was here, with them, in each and every one of their hands.

* * *

When Raphael woke up at about six a.m., the house was quiet. Leo lay in the bed nearest to him, lightly snoring. Leo was like a rock with a sheet pulled over him. Raphael marveled at what a sound sleeper he was – just like Warren. When they were younger, Greg and Raphael had had fun with that, clapping, dropping books, and even banging pot lids to see if Leo and Warren would wake up. 

He crept into his mother's room to check on her – to make sure, to feel the warm breath against his palm as she slept. Raphael's greatest fear was the one person who meant so much to him would go away. He loved his brothers and had respected and admired his father, but his mother kept him stepping lightly, son gingerly monitoring mother every morning and every evening, as if, without such a vigilance, he would lose her, the way he lost his father.

He wondered what would happen when he went away to Hogwarts next year. He could not even bring himself to think of it.

Then he went downstairs to the kitchen for a drink of water. Raphael was not scared of the dark. He had been never been scared of the dark, even when he was small.

He remembered those summer nights when he would sometimes stand at the open window in the front hall and would feel a breeze. Then the breeze would begin to smell of earth and air and a mossy scent that meant only one thing: a thunderstorm.

There would be a wonderful temporary hush then, as Greg sat in the den with their father, reading or discussing Quidditch strategy, his mother in the kitchen instructing the house elves, Warren and Leo in their beds asleep.

He would go out to the back porch in his cotton pajamas, as the rain began falling in heavy drops against the roof, breezes came in the screens from all sides and swept against him. It was warm and wonderful and the lightning would come, and a few moments later, the thunder.

Then his mother would come and stand at the open porch door, and, after she said her standard warning, "You're going to catch your death of cold," she grew quiet. They both would listen together to the rain pour down and the thunderclap and smell the earth rising to greet them.

"You look invincible," his father said one night, when he joined them.

Raphael loved those times, when they seemed to feel the same thing. He turned to his parents, wrapped in his thin pajamas, and said: "I am."

Raphael went back up to his room and tried to go back to sleep. He did not notice the lack of snores coming from the bed on his other side, where Greg lay awake preoccupied with nerve wrecking thoughts of returning to school that day, now that the summer holidays were over.

While Raphael got good grades and impressed the teachers, Warren got up to mischief and charmed his peers; Greg was a mediocre student who lately did not like talking to his friends much and kept mostly to himself. This made him susceptible to teasing and even bullying.

Thus it was no surprise that morning as Ginny rushed around the house trying to get the children awake and ready for school and herself ready for work, she found her son curled up in bed complaining about a cough. Ginny willing told him that she would drop him off at The Burrow with Leo.

It was while she was in the breakfast room, having breakfast that, Harry dropped by as he had done almost everyday during the summer holidays, breakfast at The Blue Creek Manor a habit for him.

"Good morning." He beamed at Ginny, squeezing her shoulder affectionately before taking his seat between a sleepy Leo and a slightly bleary eyed Raphael.

"Good morning," they mumbled back.

"My, aren't we enthusiastic this morning." He commented, dryly.

"First day of school," Raphael said by way of explanation.

"I'm still asleep," Leo explained. Harry reached across and ruffled his hair affectionately. Leo scrunched up his face and yawned.

"Where are your brothers? They should be down by now," Ginny told Raphael, who shrugged. As far as he was concerned, it was still too early in the morning to be responsible.

"I could drop Leo off at The Burrow, if you want, so you wouldn't have to rush." Harry volunteered.

"Oh, would you?" Ginny looked extremely relieved. "That would be wonderful. You'll have to take Greg as well."

"He's not going to school?" Harry asked.

Ginny shook her head. "He's got a cough."

Harry frowned. "He seemed fine at the wedding two days ago."

"He's pretending." Raphael stated, matter-of-factly, not to snitch on his brother so much as to help him deal with his fears. "He hates school."

Ginny gawked at her eldest son but had no time to respond because Greg and Warren had walked into the room.

After a round of 'Good Morning's, Harry decided to settle the matter and ask Greg himself. "Greg, are you ill?"

He opened his mouth to reply but something in Harry's voice or perhaps in his face gave him pause. He had entered the room with a wan demeanor imperfectly masking the bloom of good health. Now he seemed more confused than sickening from a cough.

"Dear boy," Harry said, softening his tone, "do you think you might try to make it to school today because it's the first day and it might not be as bad as you think?"

He pondered this request and glanced at his mother.

"I agree with Harry," Ginny said. "Perhaps you're feeling better now."

Greg coughed once feebly, but even he could see the game was lost and it being lost, there was no reason to pretend to no appetite. He gazed longingly at the spread on the table. "Is there jam today with bread?" he asked.

Harry, however, was not satisfied. He hoped to have a word sometime soon with Greg alone about hisloathing for school. He had to have a good reason for that.

* * *

After breakfast, Harry got ready to Floo to the Burrow with Leo. 

"We can't go yet," Leo told Harry, "Mummy hasn't kissed me goodbye."

Harry agreed to wait while Ginny tended to her other sons, adjusting their school uniform, making sure they had their lunch boxes.

"Warren, you have show-and-tell today. Please, honey, remember body parts do not count." She reminded him. He pouted dismally before going off to fetch his pet owl.

"Now, you," Ginny turned to Leo, smoothing his hair and leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. "You be a good boy and have fun at The Burrow."

Leo nodded, smiling, "I love you, Mummy."

"Love you too, darling. Now, off you go."

After a peck on the cheek from Ginny, Harry held Leo's hand and Flooed to The Burrow.

The Weasley Matriarch was out in the garden, tending to her tomatoes and cabbages in the plot of vegetables she kept growing in her garden ever since her children had left home, to give her something to while away her time.

Leo let of Harry's hand and ran out to join his grandmother. One of his favorite activities at The Burrow was to chase the garden gnomes around while his grandmother weeded and cultivated her plants nearby.

"Good morning, darling!" she cried out as Leo threw his little arms around her from behind her.

"Good morning, grandma," he muttered, before running towards a garden gnome he had spotted hiding behind a rather large cabbage.

"Hullo, Mrs. Weasley," Harry greeted her.

Mrs. Weasley stood up, startled. "Why, Harry, I wasn't expecting you."

He shook his head. "I came to drop off Leo," he explained nonchalantly. He felt rather underfoot with the scrutinizing look Mrs. Weasley bestowed upon him.

"That's nice, honey. Ginny needs a hand now and then. She's too stubborn to admit it though," Mrs. Weasley told him, taking off her gardening gloves.

"Let's have a seat." She pointed to the two garden chairs at the porch where they could sit and talk and keep an eye on Leo at the same time.

Molly had wanted to speak with Harry ever since the wedding. Arthur had advised her against it, saying that it was not their business anymore what Ginny did with her life. Molly felt otherwise – her children's' lives were always her business.

She had seen, with the same laser beam eyes that sought out any mischief by the twins, something beneath the surface of her daughter's smile; in her placated, contented movements and in how her body responded whenever Harry was around her. She was quite sure Ginny herself was unaware of this.

Harry was a different story - Molly had never seen a man quite so capable and alert as when in the service of a woman he hoped to please: helping Ginny with the boys, bringing her food, consoling her, looking out for her.

"I've been meaning to talk to you for some time now," Molly began hesitantly.

Harry slumped back in his seat, knowing immediately where this was going to go. "Is this about Ginny?" he asked, not wanting to beat around the bush.

Mrs. Weasley nodded and before she could open her mouth and speak, Harry beat her to it. "Then I want to assure you, with my utmost confidence, that we are simply friends, good friends and nothing more and-"

"That's just it, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley cut him off, a tad exasperated, "My daughter cannot have you as just a friend. She may not know it, but she needs you as something more."

Harry swallowed hard, staring at Mrs. Weasley, completely flabbergasted. _Was she saying what he thought she was saying? _

"She has four children whom you mean the world to. The past few weeks all I've been hearing is 'Uncle Harry this' and 'Uncle Harry that'. It takes quite a lot to make an impression on those boys, who are mostly unwilling to let anyone in their lives at the moment, and you've done it," Mrs. Weasley continued, already on a roll to get her point across.

Harry finally managed to find his voice to speak. "That's why I'll be there for them; for a while, at least." It was not that he could possibly leave them, but he had his Quidditch career to think about, his own life. Even ifit was a painful possibility, he had to consider it, as his agent so often reminded him the past summer.

"A while won't work," Mrs. Weasley told him firmly. "You have to be there for them, long term."

Harry sat back in his seat, astounded by what Mrs. Weasley was telling him. He knew Mrs. Weasley wanted Ginny to move on, find someone and get married, but it never dawned on him that she would want that someone to be _him_.

"And not just as a friend. They deserve more than that, Harry, and you know it," she added, somberly.

She patted his knee affectionately, "Think about it, Harry." Then she rose from her seat, beckoned Leo and made her way back into the house, leaving Harry to sit on the porch alone, contemplating her words and his own revelations.

**_TBC_**

* * *

**Author's note**

Thanks goes to my wonderful beta reader: **_'Don'tletmegetme'_**

Thank you for the overwhelming flood of wonderful reviews..

Thanks a lot for your vote of confidence in my writing – you must really be my guardian angel.lol. You should ask the reviewer who made that remark if they're smoking anything. Lol.

No killing off Ginny in this story and turning Mrs. Weasley into a meanie. Witch's honour.

As for my other HG story 'Your Body's A wonderland', it got deleted in case you didn't notice by the fanfiction people for reasons I have yet to fathom. I'm glad you think it's my best story. I personally beg to differ – I think my best is the DG story 'You're the Only One'. I love that one.

I have been in love with Johnny Depp ever since Astronaut's Wife – he was so hot and acted really well as the dark and dangerous alien in disguise.

Glad you spotted the extended metaphor and thanks for the tip – I'll just have to live with the risk. Besides two of my other fics without song lyrics in them got deleted for no reason already. Glad you liked Mrs. Weasley as well. I was afraid she might be a tad OOC.

Any fear of this being an incomplete fic can be put aside for I have all chapters of this story finished, ready to betaed and uploaded..never fear..unless I don't get enough reviews and get discouraged..hehe..i LOVE emotional blackmail..

_**REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW ADDICT NEEDS ANOTHER FIX!**_


	4. No Wind, No Rain

**No Wind, No Rain**

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is NOT MINE…_

* * *

It was the first Saturday morning of September, the month when the seasons turned from hot summer to cool, leafy autumn. Harry had just finished a round of quidditch with Greg and they were slowly making their way back to the house for dinner. 

Ginny had taken Leo to St. Mungo's as he had come down with a slight fever. Warren and Raphael were over at a birthday party of a friend from Grade School. Greg had not been included in the guest list and he had been noticeably sullen about it all week, insisting otherwise when Raphael offered to decline the invitation since it was an obviously mean gesture on the birthday boy's part to exclude Greg.

Ginny had raised her concerns regarding this issue to Harry privately and he had promised her that he would speak to Greg.

"That was a good move, the whole diving in midair." Harry told Greg who nodded, grinning. He was the happiest when he played quidditch. Harry could relate to that. That was a time in his life when that was the only thing that gave him happiness. Now he had so much more.

Harry decided to get straight to the point. These moments after their informal quidditch practices were the only times he and Greg had alone together, when they confided in each other.

"You really don't like school, do you?" He asked.

Greg made a face, "No. I hate it."

"Why?"

"It doesn't suit me. I'm not a school sort of person. I'm the wrong personality type."

His grandfather had told him about personality types a while ago, just after his father had passed away. They were both introverts, he said, which made a lot of things – making new friends, starting at school and places of work – more difficult for them. He had said it to make Greg feel better about not being as talkative or friendly as his brothers.

"Do the other kids give you a hard time?"

Greg looked at Harry. How did he know that? Things must be worse than he thought if people knew even before he had said anything. "Not really. Just a couple of kids."

"What do they give you a hard time about?"

"Nothing really. Just, you know, my glasses-"

Harry stopped short, staring down at him, "You wear glasses?"

"Only for reading." Greg told him. Harry nodded, motioning for him to go on.

"They make fun of me because I read a lot at school, and I don't talk much to anyone else. I just sit by myself."

"Why don't you talk to the other children? Don't you have friends?"

"I used to but I stopped sitting with them or talking to them."

Harry sensed that this had begun ever since Terry's demise, "Why?" he asked.

Greg shrugged, "I just don't think there's any point. I'd rather be by myself. What's the point of having friends, talking to other children. It's not like they understand anyway."

"Understand what?" Harry probed.

"How it feels when someone dies…y'know like how Dad died."

Harry nodded in understanding.

"They just either feel sorry or avoid you. I don't like any of them." Greg muttered, darkly.

"Why don't you give them a chance?" Harry suggested.

"It's too late. They already think I'm weird."

"I'm sure we can think of something." Harry said, vowing to find a way for Greg to fit in at school.

Greg shrugged. "Can I ask you something, Uncle Harry?" He asked as they neared the house.

"Yeah, sure."

"Why did Daddy have to die?" He asked it so simply and so sincerely that Harry wanted to pull him into his arms and weep for this boy whom at the age of eight knew what it meant to lose someone you loved.

Harry thought about it for a moment, "Someone has to die in order for the rest of us to appreciate and value life."

"So Dad would want me to love my life?" Greg asked.

"Yes, he would, very much. He would want you to enjoy it, live it to the fullest."

"How would I do that?" He asked, seriously.

"Do what makes you happy, Greg. Play quidditch, talk to your friends, and play with them. That's what your father would want-"

Greg cut him off here and said something that bowled Harry over completely, "What about _you_? What would _you_ want me to do?" He looked up at Harry eagerly, almost adoringly.

Harry stared down at him, askance. Molly Weasley was right. Forget about his own heart, these boys' hearts were in his hands; they had given it to him on a silver platter – their trust, their confidence, their love and care.

"I want you to be yourself - eight year old Gregory Ban Boot, that's who you are. You don't have to be older, you don't have to funnier, you don't have to be smarter, and you don't have to be more mature. Just be yourself and everyone will love you for it."

Then Greg did something he had never done before. He stepped towards Harry and in one swift movement threw his arms around him, his head coming up to Harry's midriff. Harry was taken aback for a moment, before wrapping one arm around Greg's shoulders, his other hand clutching his Firebolt.

They stood there for a while in each other's embrace. Harry felt as if he was hearing a phoenix sing – there was a warm syrupy feeling in the pit of his gut.

As they broke apart, Greg's hazel eyes were filled with unshed tears. As the tears welled up in his eyes and spilled onto his cheeks, Harry knelt down on the grass, without saying a word, pulled Greg towards him, allowing him to rest his head on his shoulder and cry softly, slowly, and without a care in the world.

* * *

"I won't! I won't! I won't go to bed!" Leo cried as Ginny forcibly carried him to the boys' room. 

"You should have been in bed half an hour ago." She told him, as she placed him on his bed.

Raphael was attempting to tug his shirt from the one of the drawers that had sprouted teeth thanks to Warren and his meddling with their mother's wand. Warren was jumping up and down on his bed, throwing pillows at Greg who was jumping up and down on his bed as well, ducking the pillows with his well-developed quidditch reflexes.

Harry watched all this, extremely amused, standing in the doorway.

"Last one in bed is a hairy toad!" Ginny called out, picking up the pillows from the floor and placing it on the beds.

She came to stand with Harry in the doorway, "I'm afraid I've been rather lax with my discipline." She sighed, watching all four boys jump up and down on their beds, laughing, loudly, throwing pillows at one another.

"Nonsense," he told her, knowing fully well that it was one of her major insecurities as a mother. "They love you and that's more than can be said for other children with even stricter parents."

"I hope you're right." She murmured before walking back into the bedroom, clapping her hands loudly to get their attention. "Come on, boys, get to bed. If not, no goodnight kiss tonight."

Suddenly there was a scramble to grab their pillows and get into bed, all the boys lying on their beds, tense with the wait for their turn, even Raphael who knew he should be too old for it to matter.

The good night kiss was something at which Ginny excelled. As she stood at the end of the bed after closing the Venetian blinds and turning the lights off with a flick of her wand, the boys would often get goose bumps on their arms and legs. The anticipation was so sweet.

Tonight she began with Leo. "Ready, Leo?" She said and he said, "Yes!" ready for peace and sleep.

Ginny took the thin cotton top sheet and bunched it up in her hands while being careful to keep the two corners between her thumb and forefinger. Then she snapped it out so the pale blue sheet spread out like a parachute above him and gently, what felt wonderfully slowly, it wafted down and touched along his exposed skin – his knees, forearms, his cheeks and chin. Both air and cover somehow there in the same space at the same time – it felt like the ultimate freedom and protection.

Harry watched as she did this for each son and then finished it off by kissing each of them goodnight. This was the first time he was staying till their bedtime, normally choosing to leave immediately after dinner.

* * *

Moments later, "Would you like a drink?" Harry asked, as they went down the stairs and headed towards the living room. 

"I don't mind," Ginny said tiredly as Harry conjured up Gillyweed on the rocks for her and mulled mead for himself.

She sank into the couch, stretching her legs out, sighing wearily. Harry handed her her drink and sat down at the other end of the couch.

"Mmmm, just what I needed." Ginny murmured, after a few sips.

Then with a hopeful smile on her face, "How about a foot massage?" she wiggled her toes in Harry's direction.

He laughed, setting his drink down, moving down the couch, placing her feet on his lap and proceeding to fulfill her request.

"My, you've got magical fingers." Ginny sighed contentedly.

"How come you're so exhausted today?" Harry asked.

Ginny shrugged, "I guess it was shuttling up and down from St. Mungo's to back here, and then to pick up the boys from the party..."

"Leo seems better now." Harry commented. Ginny nodded.

"Warren and Raphael looked like they had the time of their lives." He added.

"They did. I hope it didn't upset Greg even more though." Ginny frowned.

"I talked to Greg today. It seems to me Greg's trying to grow up too fast. He seems to think grown ups don't hurt so much when they lose someone." Harry explained.

As Ginny listened to Harry, she could not help thinking about what a great father he would make – he was wonderful with the boys, actually listened to them and was sensitive to their needs.

For some reason though, the thought of him having children of his own made her feel a quick stab of envy. She found herself staring at him, his black hair perpetually messy, his emerald eyes, his straight square jaw and that handsome, sweet smile.

"I know how it feels when you're forced to grow up." Harry was saying now. "I never knew what was worse – when I had to deal with losing Sirius and killing Voldermort or after that, when I had to find out what the purpose of my existence was."

"There were times after the Second War when I was convinced that I should have been the one to die instead of Voldermort. It would have been better that way. Because up until then, my entire existence was centered on saving the magical world from him and now that I had killed him, what was I supposed to do? What did I live for?"

Ginny did not say anything, remaining silent, but listening attentively to Harry. She could see the pain from the past contort his handsome features. He had never really talked about the time after the Second War – she remembered how he had kept mostly to himself, how there was rarely a smile on his face, how disillusioned he had seemed.

"Then slowly, after a while, I found myself, decided to start fresh somewhere else, moved to Florence, joined the quidditch team there…"

"You _have_ changed." Ginny pointed out, "You're more self assured."

He smiled, "It took a long time."

"In a way, I'm glad Greg loves quidditch and has that part of his life to look forward to at least." Ginny said.

"He's a natural on the broom."

"That's what Terry used to say about him." Ginny smiled, proudly.

"I daresay he'll be better than me."

"I'm sure he will. He's my son after all." Ginny stated, with a teasing grin.

Harry laughed.

"Tell me about Florence." Ginny smiled at Harry, winningly. She loved to hear him talk about the beautiful architecture, the people, and the history of the Italian city.

How could Harry possibly resist that smile? So he talked about how the churches there were the best, with their elaborate frescoes, like the great cathedral Santa Maria del Fiore, he talked about a time when the city was rife with famous artists like Sandro Boticelli, Donatello and many more - the deep husky timbre of his voice lulling a weary Ginny into a deep slumber.

Harry ceased talking once he realized that she was sound asleep. He slowly got off the couch, without any sudden movement that would awaken her. Upon deciding that she would surely get a crick in her neck if she spent the night on the couch, he bend down, scooped her up in his arms in one fluid motion and carried her up to her bedroom. She barely stirred, remaining fast asleep, as he entered her bedroom and placed her on the bed. He covered her with the white chenille bedspread.

He stood there, for a while, watching her sleep, her wine red hair tangled upon the pillow, her arms thrown up in an uncharacteristically unfeminine manner, the rising and falling of her chest under the thin sheet, the curve of her faintly lined neck as it arched over the pillow, the fluttering of her eyelids as she dreamt – of what? Of whom?

A knot of desire tugged at him and it was all he could do not to lower himself onto the bed beside her. But he did not. Such an action was unthinkable. Instead he decided to head back home, to the solitude of Grimmauld Place.

* * *

As sunlight flooded the room, Ginny's eyes fluttered open. She turned over on her side, lazily, unwilling to remove herself from the comfort of her bed, especially on a Sunday morning. It was then that she noticed the piece of parchment and beautiful white lily on her bedside table. She picked up the parchment, a smile lifting the ends of her lips at the words written on it, in Harry's distinctly messy scrawl. 

_Dearest Gin,_

_Hope you had a good sleep. I broke my back carrying you up to your room. See you and the boys later at The Burrow for the surprise party._

_Love, _

_Harry_

Ginny snorted incredulously – he broke his back it seems.She picked up the lily and breathed in its tangy scent. Today already seemed like a good day.

* * *

All the Weasley children, their spouses, some of the grandchildren and Harry, had hatched the plan, right down to every single detail. Bill, Fleur, their children Amber and Rick would bring Mr. and Mrs. Weasley out for high tea at some posh restaurant, making it seem as if they had another birth announcement to make, something rather plausible in the Weasley clan. 

That would leave The Burrow empty and the scene clear for the rest of them to put up decorations, organize the food and whatever else was necessary to do in preparation for a party. Then, at about six o'clock, Bill, Fleur, Amber and Rick would return with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, using Amber's fake stomach ache as an excuse to get home early.

By this time everything would be in its place and everyone would be in their places, hiding in the dark. Then as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stepped into the house, the lights would go on and everyone would jump out of their hiding places exclaiming, "Surprise! Happy Wedding Anniversary!"

Now, everything had been going accordingto the plan. The 'Happy Wedding Anniversary' banner hung from the living room wall. Balloons were charmed to float from the corners of the ceiling. Confetti floated in the air lending a festive atmosphere to the house.

At six o'clock, everyone was hiding in their various places all over the house, in the descending darkness of the approaching dusk. Ginny, who was hiding behind the long couch in the living room nearest to the door, with her sons and Harry, heard the popping sounds of her brother, his wife and children apparating with their parents.

"They're here." She whispered.

Harry nodded, turning towards the closet where Ron was hiding with Hermione, giving him the thumbs up signal, indicating that they had returned. George who was somehow squashed behind the settee chair by the fireplace with his wife Angelina, Fred, Alicia and their children, nodded in response to Harry's signal.

There was a slight pause before a loud crack could be heard as Bill, Fluer and their children disapparated.

"They're gone." Ginny whispered. It would be a few minutes before her parents walked in.

Harry held up his hand, so that everyone could see it, getting ready to count to three. He waited and waited, planning to start once the door opened.

He shot Ginny a quizzical look. Across the room, hiding under the stairs, Charlie's head popped out, "What's going on?" He whispered. Fred who caught his eye, shrugged.

Ginny held a finger to her lips to silence Harry, straining to hear what was going on outside. She heard the familiar creak of the garden chairs on the porch and the soft tones of her parents.

"They're sitting on the chairs at the porch...they're talking." Ginny whispered to Harry, "It'll be awhile before they come in."

"We need to get them in." Harry decided, frowning, trying to come up with a backup plan.

"What's up?" It was Fred, having crawled all the way fromhis spot near thefireplace to join them. Ginny explained to him the situation.

"Get one of the boys to go out and ask them to come in." Fred suggested, always with a good idea up his sleeve.

"Wonderful." Ginny murmured, turning to Warren, trusting his capability to lie with a straight face, "Warren, you go out to the porch and tell Grandma and Grandpa that your brothers and I are waiting inside, that we need to speak to them."

Fred nodded, before crawling back to his place to inform the rest about the recent developments.

"Mummy," Leo tugged at Ginny's robes, "Can't I go and bring Grandma and Grandpa in?" He pleaded.

Ginny hesitated.

"Why not, Gin?" Harry urged her, obviously succumbing to the youngest boy's pleas.

"Okay, fine, do you know what to say?" Ginny asked. Leo nodded, eagerly.

"Don't say anything about the party." Ginny reminded him.

"I won't, Mummy." He muttered, before getting to his feet and darting towards the door.

Leo closed the door behind and walked towards where his grandparents were sitting languidly, relaxing on the porch. He walked up briskly towards his grandmother and tugged on her sleeve.

She turned around, startled, "Darling, what are you doing here?" She asked, with a gentle delighted smile.

"Can you come into the house?" Leo asked, purposely avoiding her question. Molly exchanged a questioning look with Arthur.

"In a bit, darling, your grandma and I'd like to sit out here for a while. We just got back home." Arthur told him, genially.

Leo shifted from one foot to the other, looking at the ground nervously, "But I said _I_'d get you'll. They always send Warren to do things…I said I'd do it…It'll spoil the surprise." He attempted to explain, looking rather anxious.

"What surprise, darling?" Molly asked, turning around to face her grandson, now that he had her full attention.

"It's a great big surprise. They've taken most of the day preparing for it. Everybody's waiting for you inside."

"Well, then we mustn't keep them waiting." Arthur decided, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he exchanged amused glances with his wife above Leo's head.

Leo seemed seized with panic for a moment and let out a gasp, "Please, don't tell them that I told you about the surprise. I said I wouldn't."

"Well, you didn't really tell us anything about it, did you?" Mrs. Weasley pointed out, attempting to pacify him.

"Yes, I did. It's a party."

"A party!" Arthur exclaimed spiritedly, rising from his chair right away. Molly laughed, pulling Leo into her arms for a hearty embrace and a kiss before following her husband into the house.

* * *

The party was going pretty well, all things considered. The grandchildren were running amok in the backyard. Bill and Charlie were in charge of the grill, barbecuing hot dogs, chicken wings, otah and loads of other delicious food. The long picnic table nearby was laden with the different potluck dishes done by all the Weasley women. Garden chairs had been set up all over the garden, in clusters, to facilitate sitting, eating and chatting. 

Harry had just gotten a second helping of Ginny's excellent marble cake and returned to his seat under the huge maple tree. He took his seat between Ginny and Hermione. Ron, sat beside the latter, sipping from a can of firewhiskey courtesy of the twins who were seated on Ginny's other side with their wives.

"The cake's delicious." Harry commented.

"I thought it was rather dry." Ginny told him.

Hermione made a noise that sounded very much like a snort. Everyone stared at her.

"Choked on a piece of hotdog." She explained, pointing at the hotdog on her plate.

She avoided meeting the eyes of Ron who seemed not to believe her.

Just then Amber, Bill's twelve-year-old daughter came running towards them, accompanied by Raphael and Greg.

"Hey!" Harry grinned at the children as they came to a halt beside him, panting.

"Uncle Harry," Raphael began, with a roll of his eyes at his cousin because even though she was older than him, she was a _girl_, a rather girly one at that, " Amber here wants to know why you're not married?"

Harry blanched. Hermione definitely snorted this time. Ron looked very bemused.

"I've been meaning to ask you that myself." George piped up, grinning impishly. Angelina swatted at his arm reproachfully.

"I haven't found the right woman yet." Harry replied, honestly.

"Happy now?" Greg asked Amber who stuck her tongue out at him before turning to Harry, "When will you find her?" she asked, almost fretful for Harry's lack of a love life.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll find someone for him." Ginny assured the young witch, biting back a grin.

Hermione snorted once more. Ginny glared at her, "What's with you and all the snorting? Isn't that what Ron usually does?"

Before Hermione could retort though, Ron who had turned a customary red in the face beat her to it, "What's that supposed to mean? I don't snort like a pig."

Hermione was all riled up by now, "What? I sound like a pig?"

Harry covered his face with his hands, "This is why I left this country," he murmured, referring to their incessant bickering.

Everyone laughed while Ron and Hermione looked awfully sheepish.

"I'd better go check on the boys." Ginny said, rising from her seat, her eyes following Amber, Raphael and Greg as they returned to other end of the backyard where the rest of the children were playing.

"I'll come with you." Alicia stood up as well, "You have no idea what my two rascals can get up to." She murmured, referring to her two daughters, Heidi and Emma. "It's all his fault – spoiling them rotten." Alicia glared at Fred, before going off with Ginny who was smiling with glee to see her brother being admonished by his wife.

"I need a drink." Fred scowled at their retreating backs.

"I'm just glad I don't have any children." George said, smugly.

"I second that," Ron said.

"Do you want me to hex you?" Hermione asked him, sternly.

"I need a drink as well." Ron quickly stood up to follow his brothers, intent on escaping Hermione's impending wrath.

Once they were gone, Hermione moved her chair slightly closer to Harry's, leaning towards him so that no one else could hear what she was about to say.

"So when are you going to tell her?" Hermione asked, quietly.

"Tell who what?" Harry asked, completely mystified.

"Tell Ginny that you're in love with her." Hermione stated, plainly.

Harry went terribly pale, his mouth going dry, thoroughly taken aback. "Are you out of your mind! I'm not in love with her!" Harry lied, managing to look somewhat indignant.

"Oh please, I'm your oldest friend, Harry, I know you well enough." Hermione said understatedly.

Harry's shoulders slumped in resignation, "Is it _that _obvious?" He asked.

Hermione nodded, "To everyone else _except_ Ginny."

"That's good, isn't it?" Harry felt the color return to his face and his pulse go back to its normal rate.

"It's always good for someone to know that they're loved." She commented, sagely.

"Not when that someone else is already in love." Harry muttered, despondently.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione shook her head at him, smiling sadly, like a mother at her naïve child, "She can't hold onto Terry forever. Even she knows it. She just needs a reason to move on."

Harry did not say anything. His gaze was fixed upon Mr. and Mrs. Weasley who were sitting alone together at the picnic table. All this while they had been preoccupied with one or another of their children or grandchildren. This was the perfect opportunity for Harry to speak to both ofthem in private.

He excused himself from Hermione who promptly moved over to join Angelina and Gail, Charlie's wife, to gossip about the latest scandal at the now largely ridiculed Ministry of Magic. Harry walked across the lawn towards the picnic table.

"Happy Wedding anniversary," He said with a warm smile as he sat down across from Mr. and Mrs.Weasley

"Thank you, dearie." Molly beamed at him.

"Nothing to it, really." Arthur muttered modestly.

"Well, considering that I did all the work, it _was_ nothing for him." Molly commented, good-naturedly.

Harry laughed and then growing serious, "I need to speak to you both about something very important." He said.

Arthur nodded, "Go on, son."

"You know how I consider you'll as my parents – after all, you've been there for me practially for all of my life."

"You're always one of the family, Harry, you know that." Molly smiled at him.

Harry nodded, "Before I say what I have to say, I just want to make it clear to you'll that I would never do anything to hurt you or any one of your children or grandchildren."

Harry took a deep breath at this point, then looked straight at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, " I want you both to know that I love your daughter very much."

This declaration did not shock them as much as Harry expected but then again, considering what Hermione had said earlier, it was no surprise.They did not say anything, silently waiting for him to go on, knowing that he had more to say.

"The thing is, I don't want to rush anything. I don't want to pressure Ginny. She's been through a lot. I want her to take her time-"

"But she needs to move on." Molly interrupted him, heatedly.

"When she's ready to, she will." Harry said steadfastly.

Arthur put his hand on his wife's arm, nodding in agreement with Harry, "He's right, honey. With time, everyone will be with who they're supposed to be with." He soothed her.

"Don't be mistaken, Mrs. Weasley. I definitely plan to be there long term for Ginny and the boys. In fact, I've already begun making arrangements with my agent to retire from Quidditch. I've also been considering the assistant coach position at Chudley Cannons – it's less time consuming and doesn't involve much traveling." Harry explained.

Molly reluctantly agreed. Harry's resoluteness had convinced her.

**_TBC_**

* * *

**Author's note**

Pardon the errors - my beta reader's busy

Some say Mrs. Weasley's pushy and rude, some say she's great cos she cares tons about her children – I say I can't please everyone…

I kind of portrayed Mrs. Weasley based on my own late grandmother– mine is a matriarchal family – whom I love and respect. She had a strong personality, could even be domineering at times but she did whatever she did with her children and grandchildren's welfare in mind.

Besides, Mrs. Weasley's not telling him to marry Ginny, she's suggesting it in her own 'Mrs. Weasley' way because she knows he's in love with her daughter and he's the best person for her. She just wants him to know that he has her approval, basically. But anyway, Harry's not a pushover. You'll see in this chapter.

This story completes in one more chapter not including epilogue if I decide to put it up but chances are I won't.

You're a grandmother? Or are you pulling my leg?

I don't know what fanfic is up to really deleting stories without even giving a notice or forewarning. Blasphemous if you ask me.

I love 'Lovely Bones'. It's one of my favourite books. My favourite characters are Susie's father and Ray Singh – they're both such compassionate, strong men with a heart of gold. They just don't make men like that in real life, especially nowadays. There will be more references to the book in my story – hope you enjoy it.

Ginny's OOC? I wrote her the way I thought'd she be as a mother and a widow.

Thank you for pointing out all those errors. I corrected them instantly.

**_Wolf's scream:_** You'd make a wonderful beta reader. Thank you so much for pointing out all my mistakes. I must admit, as much as I love writing and try to be good at it; I'm still a novice. If I ever became a professional writer, and had an editor, he or she would hopefully have the hindsight you do.

I guess most of you didn't like the previous chapter very much cos I got considerably less reviews this time. Hopefully this chapter is better. Please do let me know what you think of this story and how it's going along etc.

**_REVIEW! REVIEW! NEED REVIEW FIX BADLY! FINAL CHAPTER COMING UP IF YOU REVIEW!_**


	5. I'll Be There When You Want Me

**I'll Be There When You Want Me**

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is NOT MINE…_

* * *

The approaching holidays were always a hodgepodge of conflicting emotions, unrealistic expectations and overwrought exhaustion. This year, however, it was proving to be a very disappointing time of the year. For starters, the ground remained devoid of snow much to the displeasure of the boys, despite the chilly weather. Secondly, and most importantly _really_, Harry was not going to be spending the holidays with them. He had to take a short trip back to Florence to settle certain matters involving his property and his contract with the _Medici Messers_ so as to facilitate his retirement as a quidditch player. 

Now, Ginny had always been the 'out of sight, out of mind' sort of person but ever since Harry left, a few days before Christmas, she found herself thinking more and more about him. Harry, her first infatuation at the tender age of eleven, the thought of whom now could make her abdomen contract.

She had not thought about him in this way for decades but here she was, at the age of thirty one, with children of her own, with rounded hips and stretch marks from all those pregnancies, thinking of him in a syrupy way that seemed almost akin to longing.

She thought about how his hair stuck up at odd angles, even more so when he ran his hand through it repeatedly in an attempt to neaten it. She thought about his favorite breakfast of cereal and milk. She thought about how he had bought them fresh cherries one day during autumn and taught them how to eat it with fresh whipped cream – it had been delicious. She thought about his foot massages, the way his green eyes darkened with excitement when he talked about Florence. She thought about his voice, his laughter, and his smile.

She could not stop thinking about Harry; no matter how hard she tried. He was gone, even if it was just for a while, but here she was, thinking about him. Just last night, she dreamt of growing an apple tree in her garden and any man who took a bite from a pie Ginny fixed with those apples were bound to be hers, for life.

What had happened to her? What had snapped? Where was that logical, independent woman, the one people could depend on day after day? How had she allowed her entire life, her family to be influenced and affected by one single person?

There were her sons gathered around the Christmas tree, opening their presents, having spent the previous night writing letters to Harry, one from the each of them.

"Why don't you open your presents as well?" Hermione asked, jolting Ginny out of her reverie. Hermione, Ron, Luna and Neville had decided to join Ginny and the boys for Christmas brunch.

Ginny nodded, getting off from the couch to join her sons on the floor. "Have you opened yours?" She asked Hermione.

Hermione nodded, sitting on the armchair, looking extremely comfortable beside Ron, bits and pieces of ripped wrapping paper all around her. Across from them, Luna and Neville sat on the couch, sipping eggnog and smiling at the boys' cries of delight or disappointment as they opened each present.

"Mum, this one's from grandma and grandpa," Warren pulled out an untidily wrapped parcel.

"One guess what that is and you get _my _sweater!" Ron crowed, pointing to the maroon sweater he was wearing that his mother knitted for every member of the family as a traditional Christmas present.

Ginny laughed, unwrapping the parcel and slipping on her own sweater.

"Where's yours?" She asked Leo who was completely enraptured with his stuff toy dragon that was charmed to fly short distances, courtesy of Uncle Charlie.

He promptly pointed to Warren who had stolen it to wear instead of his own embarrassingly unfashionable bright orange one.

Ginny shook her head at her sons, not finding it in herself to scold them on Christmas morning. Besides, she had tons of presents to open.

It was some time later when everyone had opened all their gifts, wrapping paper lying all over the place, that Raphael did his customary check for any other presents under the tree. His fingers grasped a neatly wrapped small rectangular gift. He read the note on it.

"Mum," he said, turning to his mother who was sitting on the floor beside him helping Greg set up his mini quidditch model set that Harry had gotten him. Even Ron had joined them on the floor, prodding the makeshift figures with his wand, excitedly.

"Mum, this is for you. It's from Uncle Harry." He said, handing it to her. Ginny took the package in her hands that were trembling slightlywith expectation. She could not speak for some reason. She felt as if she held the weight of her entire heart in her hands.

"I was wondering why Uncle Harry didn't get you anything." Warren said. He was sitting on the couch with Luna and Neville, as they showed him how to use the invisible ink Uncle Fred and Uncle George had given him.

Ginny barely heard her son, ripping the wrapping paper apart to reveal a smooth velvet box. She unhooked the clasp and opened the lid. A quiet gasp of awe was emitted from her lips.

"I can't believe he remembered." She murmured, throatily, her voice thick with emotion as she stared at the contents of the box.

"What? What is it?" Hermione asked, leaning out of her chair to take a look. Luna and Neville had moved towards her to see as well. Her sons crowded around her to have a glimpse. Ginny showed it to them.

"Wow, impressive." Neville commented. Hermione nodded, agreeably. It was a beautiful pair of diamond studd earrings resting against the pure white silk lining of the box.

"Very bright." Leo squinted as the diamonds caught the sunlight coming in through the window, reflecting it straight into his eyes.

"But I can't believe he remembered." Ginny was still muttering, as if in shock.

"What do you mean?" Luna asked, inquiringly.

"It's just that about a month ago, we went down to Diagon Alley together, Harry, me and the boys, and I saw these exact same diamond earrings on display at the jewellery store there and I told Harry about how I had _always_ wanted a pair of diamond earrings because Terry's mother used to wear them and she used to look so elegant and refined…" Ginny trailed off, fingering the earrings tenderly.

"And I just can't believe he remembered that." She muttered.

Ron shook his head, knowingly, "Harry's that sort of a person. Remember the time, back in Hogwarts, when he was _so_ in l_ove_ with Susan Bones and bought her the entire collection of her favorite author J.M. Barrie's works for her birthday."

It was a deathly silence that met Ron's words, as it's possible connotation registered in everyone's minds. It took a full minute for Ron to realize what everyone else was so silent and seemingly astonished about. He drew in his breath sharply, realizing what he had let slip, covering his mouth with his hand as his face went beet red in alarm.

"What did you say?" Ginny asked, quietly, having managed to find her voice at last.

"I didn't..I didn't say anything.." Ron blabbered, exchanging horrified looks with Hermione. Ginny was not supposed to know – Harry would kill him for this.

"Harry's in love with me?" She asked, softly, almost disbelieving, her eyes fixed on Hermione for confirmation and the truth.

The older witch hesitated before nodding.

"B-But how? When? _How_?" Ginny asked, feeling her heart beat all too fast in her chest. The air from her lungs felt as if they were evaporating out into her chest. Then a little voice in her said, _Let go, Let go, let go_. She was sure she was going to faint.

Her sons sat around her, staring at her worriedly, concerned with their mother's apparent state of distress.

"I don't think anyone can answer those questions save Harry," Neville pointed out sensibly.

Ginny nodded. Needing a temporary reprieve, "I need a moment alone." She said, rising to her feet, her knees shaking like jelly, before making her way up the stairs to her room.

Ginny sat on her bed for a while, thinking about how she had been missing Harry the past few days almost as if she had lost an arm and she had never felt like this about anyone ever since Terry. She remembered the look on Harry's face when he told her that he would not be able to spend the holidays with them – the worry and disappointment in his eyes.

She closed her eyes, and clenched her fists in her lap. Her chest felt hollow, bugs flying around in an excavated cavity. There was an echo in there, and it drummed up in her ears. _Let go. Let go. Let go._

She looked up when she heard the soft click of the room door opening. It was Hermione, who had come up to check on her in order to assuage everyone else's fears about Ginny's welfare.

"What do I do, Hermione?" Ginny asked her, wringing her hands in trepidation, "You're the smart one, you tell me." She implored.

Hermione sat beside her on the bed. "What do _you_ want to do?" she asked her, gently.

"I don't know. I don't know how to deal with this. I lost the one man I allowed myself to love and I promised myself never to do it again…."She trailed off, choking up as tears filled her eyes.

Hermione instinctively put her arms around her, rocking her then, "Oh, Ginny, you've been played out too, I know, I know. Oh, Ginny, Ginny."

Ginny felt her tears come like the letdown of milk when she had nursed the babies, unstoppable, purging.

"Okay now, okay. Listen. I just want you to do one thing. One thing. Will you?" Hermione asked, making sure Ginny's eyes were focused on her.

Ginny nodded.

"Don't bolt the door behind, that's all. Close it partway if you have to but don't lock it. Give Harry a chance. You and Harry have become the best of friends the past few months and that's hard to come by."

Ginny nodded, sniffing.

"Sometimes, Ginny, the hardest part of love isn't loving someone, but having the courage to let them love you back." Hermione commented, sagaciously.

* * *

On New Year's Eve, it was snowing. The snow was falling lightly, like a flurry of small hands. Ginny was sitting in the living room, curled up on the window seat, staring out at the night sky. 

On the table in the living room, Leo's crayons were scattered across the butcher paper Ginny had laid down. Leo and Warren had drawn till their heads began to nod like heavy flowers and Ginny had plucked them up in her arms, first one and then the other, and brought them up to their bedroom. Leo had curled up in a fetal position and a moment later placed his thumb in his mouth to suck. It was a habit Ginny had told the rest of her sons to help him break but now, she envied such easy peace.

Later on, after tucking Raphael and Greg in bed, she had stood there for a while, watching her sons lying in their beds, making quiet sounds of sleep. They had been surprisingly impassive to the revelation that their Uncle Harry was in love with their mother, more apprehensive about Ginny's welfare than anything else. It was almost as if they already knew.

Only Raphael, two nights ago, before going to sleep had come up to the study room where she had been reading. He had told her in serious tones with a solemn expression on his facethat it was all right if she and Uncle Harry got together - none of his brothers really minded. Besides, they all _really_ liked Uncle Harry. Ginny had smiled at her son wistfully, pulling him into her arms – her firstborn, the son she had always wanted.

"No one loves you like I do." Raphael had told her.

**"**No. No one ever will." Ginny had agreed.

Now, as she sat there with less than an hour left to the New Year, she remembered sitting in this living room, years ago – when she was pregnant with Leo – with Terry, Raphael, Greg and Warren, on the first New Year's Eve that all five of them had stayed up. She had shaped the day around making sure the children got enough sleep. Warren especially had been very excited – when he woke up after dark he was sure that someone better than Santa would come that night.

Hours later as he yawned and leaned into Ginny's lap and she finger combed his hair, Terry ducked into the kitchen to get cocoa and Raphael served German chocolate cake.

When the clock struck twelve, there was only distant screaming and a few guns shot into the air from the houses nearby, Warren was disbelieving. Disappointment so swiftly and thoroughly overtook him that Ginny was at a loss for what to do.

She remembered Terry had lifted Warren up into his arms and started singing. The rest of them joined in. "Let ole acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind, should ole acquaintance be for forget and days of auld lang syne!"

Warren had stared at them. "Lang syne?" He said with a look of wonder.

"What does that mean?" Greg asked them.

"The old days," Terry said, "Days long past."

Terry had smiled at her then, his eyes shining with nostalgia, calling her '_chocolate eyes_' before leaning down to kiss her in front of the children. He had always liked showing his affection for her in front of the children. He had all sorts of nicknames for her as well. '_My lovely girl'_, he had called her moments before he took his last breath.

Ginny closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath, pulling her knees to her chest. She thought then, of the times when she was a young girl and spent a considerable time at the Lovegoods' place, playing with Luna.

They used to love to lie down under the framed grave rubbing outside Luna's parents' room. It had been from a tomb in a London graveyard. Ginny would pretend to be the knight that was pictured and Luna would be the wife he had left behind. They always dissolved into giggles no matter how solemn the start.

Luna would tell the dead knight that a wife had to move on, that she could not be trapped for the rest of her life by a man frozen in time. Ginny would act stormy and mad, but it never lasted. Eventually, Luna would describe her new lover: the fat butcher who gave her prime cuts of meat, the agile blacksmith who made her hooks. "You are dead, knight," she would say. "Time to move on."

The peaceful silence of the house, save for the loud ticking of the grandfather's clock, was shattered by a loud crack, the distinct sound of apparating. Ginny rose from her seat abruptly, pulling her wand out immediately. She wondered who it could be since the apparition wards around the house only allowed in her family and….

"Harry," She breathed, in shock, as he stepped into the living room.

There were snowflakes stuck in his black hair and in his cloak, his hair was messier than normal, his face was flushed and his lips were redder than usual from the cold. For some reason, the disconcerted state Harry was in made him even more attractive to Ginny. His eyes were the darkest green, and as Ginny looked at him, she could feel herself falling inside of them.

"I thought you'd only be back next week." She said, her voice sounding unnaturally high.

Harry shook his head, holding hisdragonskin gloved hand out, as if to stop her questions, but more to gather his wits. Ever since Harry had left England, he had found himself in a perpetual state of agitation.

The waking up in the mornings were the worse. The thought of a day without Ginny, without Raphael's sensible statements, without Warren's mischief, without Leo's hugs, without playing quidditch with Greg almost drove him back to bed, under the covers. That was why unable to bear it any longer, he had apparated back here all the way from Florence.

"Please, just listen to me, Ginny." His words fell out of him like burdens he was delivering, back logged verbs and nouns, but he was watching her bare feet on the dun colored rug and the way the small pool of numbed light from the fireplace touched her right cheek.

"I love you." Harry said, looking at Ginny, his gaze locked with hers, with such intensity it took her breath away. "I love how you get cold even when it's seventy degrees outside. I love the way you look when you lean down to kiss Leo. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve - I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

A strange smile came across Ginny's face, "I know." She murmured, her voice gravelly with emotion.

Harry stared at her, stunned. Of all the responses he had expected - Ginny screaming at him and running away in fright a possibility he had considered - this was not one of them.

"You know?" Harry asked, bowled over, his momentum stilled. "B-but how?" He asked, a catch in his voice.

"Ron and his big mouth." Ginny smiled.

Harry looked at her smile, wanted to reach out and track the corners of it with his fingertips. He did not know what to say or do anymore. He had said all he had wanted to say. He stood there, his nerves wrought, completely incapable of any rational thought whatsoever.

Ginny took a step towards him, without hesitation, closing the distance between them. She took his face in her hands and searched his features for what Harry did not know but he certainly knew what the kiss that followed meant, a kiss that both moved and aroused him. It was the first taste of true passion he had ever had with Ginny, and, as such, it produced a joy made all the sweeter by the wait.

* * *

It was to Ginny and Harry's great consternation that the next morning as they sat at the dining table in the breakfast room - Ginny in her sweatshirt and pants, Harry in his boxers and Federation of International Quidditch (FIQ) T-shirt –, the boys came tumbling into the room, hungry for breakfast, bleary with sleep and completely impervious to the sight that met their eyes. 

"Happy New Year, Mum. Happy New Year, Uncle Harry." They mumbled, taking their seats.

Ginny and Harry exchanged pointed looks. It was pretty obvious that the boys had been unseen spectators to the turn of events last night. Thank goodness Ginny and Harry had done nothing more than share a toast and a few kisses to mark the New Year, preferring to talk about their future plans together and simply enjoy each other's company till dawn arrived.

Harry decided a frontal attack was best. "So were you boys already awake or did the noise I make apparating into the house wake you?" He asked, his lips twitching from the effort not to smile.

Greg choked on his orange juice and received a good thumping on the back from his elder brother.

"What are you talking about, Uncle Harry?" Warren asked, managing to look completely guiltless. Harry had to give the boy due credit.

"About this." Harry replied, before tipping his chair slightly forward, so that he was leaning closer to Ginny, and promptly kissed her on the lips. Ignoring Ginny'svexed yet somewhat pleased expression, Harry smirked at the boys.

"Fine, fine," Raphael admitted, seeing no need to lie to Uncle Harry any longer now that the truth was so obvious. "We saw, we heard, we know."

Harry nodded. "Are you boys okay with it? Me with your mother? A part of your lives permanently?" He asked, seriously and sincerely.

They were exchanging looks amongst themselves, obviously having expected this and discussed it amongst themselves before.

It was Raphael who spoke up, "Will you hurt Mum?"

Ginny watched her eldest son and saw the eyes of a child who had grown up fast since the day his father told him he was dying.

"I'm going to do everything I can not to." Harry said, with great conviction.

Raphael nodded in agreement.

"Amber's the one who said that you and Uncle Harry will marry." Leo spoke up, contributing his two knuts worth.

"Amber also said that Warren will blow up Hogwarts when he gets there." Greg added. Warren rolled his eyes, smirking. Everyone else laughed.

"We'd better get a move on," Ginny urged them, "Everyone else is coming over later. You boys need to get dressed."

It was an annual tradition that every New Year was spent at one of the Weasley children's home – this year it was Ginny's turn.

As they boys filtered out of them room, to go upstairs and change, Ginny paused to speak to Harry privately before following them.

"You didn't have to do that in front of them." Ginny told him, scowling in disapproval, referring to the kiss earlier.

"I was trying to make a point." Harry told her. The twinkle in his eye gave him away.

"Yeah right. More like you were trying to use it as an excuse to kiss me." Ginny concluded shrewdly, shooting him a smug grin before walking out of the breakfast room.

* * *

You do not notice the dead leaving when they really choose to leave you. You are not meant to. At most you feel them as a wave of a whisper undulating down, like an unexplained breeze in a closed room. That was exactly what Ginny felt as she sat there in the living room, on New Year's Day, surrounded by her loved ones. 

Harry was sitting beside her, a comforting warmth suffusing her everytime his leg brushed against hers. He had stayed by her side ever since summer, during which the world had changed for them and for others and would change again and again and again -there was no way to stop it.

"I know we shouldn't start too early," Fred said, ignoring the reproachful looks from all the women in the room, "but what's your poison, boys?"

"I thought we were set up for champagne," Mr. Weasley said.

"We are later," George called out from the usually unused bar outside the living room, where he was helping Fred with the drinks. "We're offering an aperitif."

"I think I'll pass." Harry said.

"Ditto." Ron added. Charlie and Mr. Weasley refused as well.

"Bill?"

Bill was teaching Warren how to use the drum set he had bought for him as an early birthday present.

"I'm teaching Warren the drums." He pointed out.

Fred held his tongue about the questionable sobriety of known jazz greats. "Well, how about five scintillating tumblers of water?"

There was laughing and talking and more laughing. The older children sat around with the adults while the younger ones were up in the playroom. Through it all, Warren banged and he banged and he banged. And Bill was the only one smiling after five minutes of it. Everyone else had glimpsed the future and it was loud.

"I think now would be a good time to introduce him to the brush," Mrs. Weasley said.

Bill obliged. He held Warren's wrist as it held the brush stick. "Just pass it over the snare lightly." And Warren did and looked up at his mother and Uncle Harry sitting across from him on the couch.

"Pretty cool." Harry said. Ginny nodded, grinning.

"Like a rattlesnake." Raphael who was sitting on the rug, cross-legged, near his mother, added.

Bill liked that. "Exactly," He said, visions of his ultimate jazz combo dancing in his head. All he had to do was wait for his four-year-old son Rick to grow up and start playing the saxophone.

Some time later, "Okay everyone!" George shouted, from the bar, "Harry has an announcement to make, so sit down!"

Harry who had left his seat to speak in hushed tones with the twins at the bar, walked into the living room along with them. Fred held a tray of champagne flutes ready to be filled. Harry glanced at Ginny briefly.

"Fred is going to assist me in the pouring." Harry said.

"Something he's quite good at." Alicia said.

"Alicia?" Fred said.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"Go ahead, Harry." Mrs. Weasley urged, ignoring her son's antics.

But Ron knew his best friend. "You're not done, wordsmith. Warren, give him some brush!"

This time Bill let Warren do it without assistance, and Warren backed Harry up.

"I want to say that I'm glad to be spending the first day of the New Year with all of you, especially you, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," Harry looked at them, at this juncture, "All I can say is that I'm honored to be marrying your beautiful daughter."

"Hear, hear!" Mr. Weasley said, his voice barely audible as everyone exploded at Harry's words.

"Finally!" Someone cried out – it was most probably Ron.

"Told you so!" Amber crowed.

There was lots of hugging, some tears – from Ron and Mrs. Weasley to be specific, and loads of smiles. Even Raphael let loose, slipping the knot that usually held him, into a rare joy, jumping around with his cousins and Greg, while Warren made as much noise as he could on the drums.

The champagne cork popped.

"Like a master!" Fred said to George, who was pouring.

Angelina stood to hold the tray for them and together they distributed the glasses across the room.

As Ginny watched her family sip champagne, she thought about how all their lives had trailed backward and forward from death, first Sirius', then Percy's during The Second War and later Terry's and then, as Harry took the daring step of kissing her in a room full of family, became borne aloft away from it.

These were the immeasurable ties that had grown around such absences: the connections – sometimes tenuous, sometimes made at a great cost, but often magnificent – that happened after people were gone.

And Ginny began to finally see things in a way that let her hold the world without Terry in it. The events that his death wrought were merely to give back to his loved ones what he had received from them during his lifetime – love, faith and hope.

With the promise that Bill would teach him to do drum rolls after dinner, Warren put up his brush and drum sticks, and everyone else began to trail into the dining room where the house elves were using the good plates to serve a delicious lunch.

As Harry took her hand in his, leading her to the dining room, Raphael and Greg in front of her laughing with Amber and Darren, Ginny realized that even though she was still unsure of what the future had in store of her, there were some things that she knew for certain. Plant roses and lavender for luck. Hug and kiss your children as much as possible. Always eat fresh cherries with whipped cream. Fall in love whenever you can.

**THE END**

* * *

**Author's Note**

Everyone seemed to like the scene between Harry and Greg. I put a lot of myself, my emotions into it. I relate to Greg on many levels but that's one part in this story where Greg's doubts are very much mine.

I try to write stories that center around the real kind of love, instead of the fluffy high school type – so yeah, I know exactly what you mean.

I didn't want to make this story too long and drag it on till it loses its appeal and ended up becoming like one of those soap operas that I am addicted to, specifically Bold and The Beautiful – I want Ridge and Bridget to get together, now that Brooke is dead. I know, I know, I'm weird. Besides, I've already written it out this way and I can't think of anyway to stretch it anymore – I mean Harry's in love with Ginny, everyone knows, the boys have accepted him, all that is left is Ginny realizing her feelings for Harry, moving on and reciprocating Harry's feelings, then end of story.

**_Wolf's Scream_**: The words getting joined together phenomenon seems to occur after I have uploaded the story. Have had to correct this every time I upload a chapter – very irritating. And even after correcting it, other words will wind up joined together. 'You'll' is supposed to be taken as 'you all'. How can I not accept such great help in editing with anything short of gratitude?

I was waiting for someone to mention something about Terry's and Ginny's love story. I'm glad you liked it.

No sequels. That I'm certain of.

I have said it before and I'll say it again, Finding Neverland inspired this story so you will find similar conversations and scenarios.

Blue rope? Black ribbon on your ankle? What are you going on about? Lol.

I'm beginning to realize that ever since my third chapter, my story has attracted a lot of opposing views – first about Mrs.Weasley and her conversation with Harry, then about completing this story in five chapters – I wonder what's next…lol.

I hope with all my heart the ending was satisfactory though I'm positive I'll get some comments about how rushed it seems for Ginny to suddenly have feelings for Harry but if you go back and read my previous chapters, you'll realize that she had feelings for Harry ever since the third chapter but was unaware of it – even her mother observed this.

**_REVIEW! REVIEW! PLEASE REVIEW!_**


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